Commended - 2020 Tower Poetry Competition, 'Trees'


Treehugger, Summer 2005

Memory is wet ink, sticky to touch,

So that when you do, your fingerprints peel

And cling to the image, my dad’s toolbox-glue.


Memory is wet ink, underdeveloped,

As I am only two, my brain as soft as the

Bark I sink my softly swollen palms into.


Memory is wet ink, a permanent annoyance,

Brown-green stains on denim knees, arts and crafts

Gone wrong; no one ever told me what to do.


Memory is wet ink, wet branches after rain,

Sap slicked like baby’s hair post-bath, I laugh: oh, tree,

I don’t remember being born and neither do you.