Daffodils

Daffodils

In grey,
This couple with hair like torn wool.
Their overcoats scratching at the world,
Holding their bones,
With frayed wrists,
The erosion, we imagine, over years,
But the connection that flits between
Welded fingers,
Hard hearts,
Has acid run off like nothing.
Like wool pulled from fences,
Rough fibres
Have matted.
A gum-pink rucksack is on her back,
Daffodils filling one of the pockets,
Freely
Displayed,
Like the sincere pinch of her smile.
Unnoticed shoes in tatters as they stride,
They walk on,
And with one
Magnificent love they lead each other through.

 
 
 

The poetry Oliver Harris creates tends to revolve around the static and everything that floods your senses in one moment, when a single thought or experience takes over. Currently studying linguistics at the University of Edinburgh, his passion lies in creative expression, whether it be through poetry, grotesque physical theatre or leaving bits of art amongst the sugar packets in his favourite café.

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