Ashley Bovan Reads
As You Are, So It Is
Clouds reflected in windows as she approached the telephone
box that sat on the edge of scrap land used for village parking.
The gravel was still wet but summer warmth eased in when a
section of sky cleared; grey turned blue. She stopped and
glanced towards the shops; two rows of seven formed into a
corm-shape. She reached into the side-pocket of her denim
work-clothes and pulled out a black wood rosary
Turn the corner past the disused school
left then third left (stop and talk)
avoid the rubbish in the gutter and alley
go through a gate set into a high concrete-
bricked wall (enjoy the holly-trellised vine,
dandelion, bulrush, betony)
walk to the kitchen back-door.
Admire the trestle-table, ordinary furniture,
scullery and parlour, luxurious orange-spicy
incense, garlands of poppy, fennel and primrose,
delicious gummy muscatel raisins
followed by quiche and currant-slice.
Sleepy now...wallpaper, patterned,
lightly floral...cornice, frieze like icing...
curtain-lace... screening daylight...
vaporous material...milk-snow undulance...
(yes, that season again)
a journal filled with illucid mischief;
I confess, I was imprisoned,
malnourished -- destined
to remain immured --
picturing a way-out