The day after that man killed Jo Cox by Jackie Biggs

I am not a silent poet

I ate strawberries

for breakfast,

because they were fat

and red

and ready with the sweetness of joy.

I walked to the top of the hill

and saw the sea, grey and cold,

but breathing, below,

all the while

on its incoming tide over endless sands,

rolling always and forever.

I sat on a seat

in the sun

and emptied my mind,

watched the waves —

sheets of steel

rolling on.

I listened to Bach played on guitar,

massive concertos

pitching

in six stunning strings.

I spoke to a young woman,

who I had known when she was a girl,

and we talked about her glorious baby,

due soon,

on some happy day.

I bought a new novel,

to read later …

That anticipation

that it is there,

the words waiting,

for me

when I am ready,

sometime,

this summer.

I picked herbs from the garden –

mint and parsley,

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