A poem from Robin Peace’s new collection Detritus of Empire: feather / grass / rock.

Cereal giving

I see a woman’s hands, see her curious hands
break a stalk as she walks through the tall prairie,
the savannah, the steppe, wherever it was.
See her idly bite the grass that her fist closed around
and find it good. See her smile, snatch another,
eyes brightening with delight and passing it over
to the woman who walks beside her.

Conjure it with me. That first sweet savour
of seed on the tongue. Like the day you bit rye grass
for a dare, not wanting to be the beggarman or thief.
Slightly bitter, slightly sweet, tasting green,
somehow fresh, holding a shade of fullness,
a texture, something for the teeth of that young woman
to close against and feel the give of bread.

Detritus of Empire: feather / grass / rock (Cuba Press) is in stores now.

The Friday Poem is edited by Chris Tse. Submissions are currently closed.