Ghandruk by Jess Blackledge

Fresh

silent and still

green

but not only one kind of green

emeralds, azures

leafy, grassy, verdant and ripe

like an aged widow

healthy and flourishing

but tarnished

hurt

beaten and old

having seen so much

listening to the slow hush of the wind

absorbing the delicacy of

mountain dew.

Birds of prey

soar from above the tips

touching the clouds

they dip

kissing the luscious fields

of maize and rice

and take off again. 

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Jess Blackledge is originally from Birmingham, UK. She works for international creative writing organization Writing Through. Her work has been published in Snakeskin Poetry Magazine and Facemasks and Handgels: a Year of Living Covidly. She enjoys drinking tea whilst unashamedly watching old Hollywood musicals.

IG: @jessieblackledge
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