charlotte steel
turn of the season
we have watched the hills
like the shoulders of some unconscious giant
rolls of muscle and tilled earth slung against
the world, sleeping breath hazing along the ridges
the dark silhouettes of single trees
forge into the sky like accusatory fingers
pointing at God
below, and in the grasses, we see the white flecks
of cabbage butterflies; snowflakes
that have lost their season, caught
in the wind and skin-delicate,
bursting on car windscreens
small scraps on the road
and in the river, a trout flicks lazily
beneath the surface, a dark flesh-curve
the potential of a hook
the rocks on the bank a jumble
a code encrypted by the mountains
and time
beyond, in the human field
a digger machine sits, trough
raised in supplication
praying for rain
Charlotte Steel works at a library and spends her free time reading and playing with watercolours. Her work has previously been published by ReDraft and Ika.