Erratics

The hills and stones are drunker than us.

Someone spilled a thousand rolls of green velvet

at a party of rocks. We walk over them

and through the glissading stream with our 

clompy boots and tupperware.

 

We’re mushroom hunting on the fells.

It’s like trying to spot a bird in a blizzard.

You have to tune in. There! Look!

Tiny freckles on the hill’s skin.

We boil, fry, make tea to get them down.

 

Our stomachs fizz as new perceptions kick in.

Otherworld.

More dimensions than usual.

The standing stones are having a laugh.

New eyes open. We cry with pleasure

when the sun sets like concrete.

 

Later, someone is snoring Mendelssohn.

The stars are edible and slightly acidic.

The fire ambers then greys. In the morning

the miserable comedown is just the return

of normality, the stones 

once more fallen silent.

Published online April 05 2016.

Cathy Bryant worked as a life model, civil servant and childminder before becoming a professional writer. She has won fourteen literary awards and has had two poetry collections published by small presses. Cathy’s latest book is the Jane Austen-themed murder mystery Pride and Regicide, published by Crooked Cat. She lives in Cheshire, United Kingdom.


Poetry Only cover image

This piece was published in ‘Poetry Only,’ the Spring 2016 issue of CV2.

Get more great poetry, interviews, and reviews delivered straight to your door four times a year. Subscribe now.