Velcro

She had three final fittings, double-checked menus, pored over
table plans. He chose silver cufflinks, ordered champagne,
practised his speech in the mirror. They spoke of nothing else;
their dreams full of happy-ever-afters. They barely slept.
The big day arrived, the sun shone and the sky was spotless.
Everything went to plan, they even managed a few tight smiles.
Afterwards they stood at the altar, about to kiss. It was now or never.
Silently the Velcro worked loose, slowly the dress slipped from her
powdered shoulders to fall in graceful folds around her feet.
 

Alison Hill

in collection, Peppercorn Rent, 2008, Flarestack,
ISBN 978-1-9064800-5-9;
published in anthology (Eng/Germ), poetry tREND, 2010, LIT Verlag

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Bingo Wings

A tight smile held it all in –
skimpy top rising over
puckered midriff,
flesh laid uncomfortably bare.
 
She must concentrate on
the dancing numbers,
eyes down, head bowed,
smile again if necessary.
 
Candle flicker emotions
played across her face.
 
If only this night could be
hers to remember,
to pull out and savour
as winter stripped the trees.
 
Yet she felt that familiar itch,
sensed her spreading arms
rise of their own accord,
take charge of her life.
 
She must give in –
let bingo wings carry her
through the open window
towards the dazzling light.
 

Alison Hill

in collection, Peppercorn Rent, 2008, Flarestack,
ISBN 978-1-9064800-5-9

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The Cast Courts

Looking down from the balcony
we see cool Italian reproductions,
filtered through countless hands.
We see birds without wings and heroes
toppled from their pedestals.
 
And as the flickering light leaves
the ochre-stained walls
and the high-ceilinged splendour
turns to terracotta dust, fingertips push
out those sculpted feelings;
David stretches his aching limbs
and covers his chilly loins,
while the lovers at the fountain
drink thirstily before resuming
their stance for the last of the visitors.
 
At night, in the splendid silence,
they bask in the warmth of Italian sun.
 

Alison Hill

published in ARTEMISpoetry, Issue 1, 2008

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Butterfly Stroke

The water beckons,
glimmers with half truths
as she dives deep
beneath its cool exterior.
It looks inviting
yet she feels paralysed,
eyes wide open
to the salt-lick sting.
 
She dives deeper
to emerge a half-grown girl
with fat yellow plaits
and a serious contempt
for her parents
further up the beach
holding hands.
 
She dawdles, lets the sand
surface with a splat
between each plump toe,
feels the razor shell
strike the soft ball
of her left foot,
closes her mouth
against the rising bile
caught in her throat.
 

Alison Hill

in collection, Peppercorn Rent, 2008, Flarestack,
ISBN 978-1-9064800-5-9;
published as Treading Water in anthology (Eng/Rom) And the Story Isn’t Over…
2009, poetry p f

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