Trafika Europe 1 - Northern Idyll

blackthorn

puckering sour the spiny bush squats hushed in tart stillness smelling of the memories bottled in the larder

she sits in the kitchen keeping her hands moving thumbs circling like two small animals taking it in turns to stroke each other’s aching shoulders

she will wait all winter as days darken and death prowls

knuckles swelling as the bitter sloes loosen in their jar

until one cold march morning when her airman lands on the prickly doormat and the suckering stems break into blossoms of snow

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