Sarah-Jane Crowson

PRESERVE

Lavender,
the cherry tree bent
double in a gale. A latch
clicked behind, after years
your words under glass
ready to be reused.
Love: a hollow tree
green with lichen. 
All the obvious things.
Tables, desks, linen.
Regular plates of food.
I am a motionless change
of state; tempered metal.
sugar boiled to a hard crack,
foxed mirror glass.
At our centre—opposition,
paperclips looped round
each other, caught, pulling 
to unshape, to part. A taste;
cinder toffee, iron filings, 
soured milk. Imagine
being rolled in icing sugar,
a carpet, or leaves. 
Self-preservation,
is diving into white
vinegar, the lid of the jar 
screwed tight above your head.

Sarah-Jane Crowson lives in rural Herefordshire. Her poetry can be read in various journals, including Muddy River Poetry Review and the Wales Haiku Journal. Her poetry has been shortlisted for the Haiku Foundation’s ‘Touchstone’ award, and the Canterbury Festival ‘Poet of the year’ award. Sarah-Jane works as an educator at Hereford College of Arts, and writes mostly late at night, trying not to spill coffee over the paper.