365 Poems – 117 Nettle Spears (Rough First Draft)
I’d like to rewind back to when I’d spend
my weekends converting a tree
into a meeting house, nettle spears
in my hands and knees.
When I was as young as fresh timber,
and in awe of clustered honeycomb,
slumped heavy on a side plate.
When I would howl along with the hoover,
and race up onto the moors to watch
heather burn and flames cleanse the earth.
I’d like to rewind back to carefully
cutting pictures out of Metal Hammer,
to stick on the underside of my desk,
so the boy I fancied, the boy who made
my legs as heavy as the moon, could see
and be impressed by my extreme taste in music.
I’d like to rewind back to when rain didn’t matter.
When I was sturdy enough to withhold it,
and believed myself to be as beautiful as strawberry cake,
even when I was finished with mud
and young decay.