365 Poems – 117 Nettle Spears (Rough First Draft)

Nettle Spears

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.