The White Garden
Dark now, a chase of shadows when the moon dips behind clouds as you trip-toe, tip-toe home on flagstone paths, past beds of low box edging squares.
Lit now by white, torches of lilies and peonies, fairy-light gypsophila and glow worms of jasmine day-bright in the fullness.
Scent of night stocks, mock-orange guide you to the book's new page so that this is how it would be.
Comfort Eating
Yes, this is my body white slab, swollen and every part of it says not happy.
There are plenty of inches stomach, hips, thighs and every one you pinch
is a mouthful of knife-twists in chocolate and handfuls of crisps.
This is my unhappy body, cellulite and stretch-marks, every part, yes.
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