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Zoë Green: a poem

Dew Point

I always thought that if you

were twenty years younger

and I as many older – well, anyway

there was salt on the air

and little skiffles of foam upon the loch;

you wore streaks of egg on your pullover.

Never seen you scarecrow before.

Your spine was ammonite,

your face overexposed, blotched,

like something dug up long ago.

Not long now, you said,

fragile as dandelion breath

when I met you on the road,

your voice a winter sky;

I demurred; and gave you a hug

as brisk as an official stamping a document

and filed you away, walked back to the car

as if it did not matter –

to make you feel that I felt that you

would live forever.

That was last October.

Today the loch lies flat, black

as the dilated pupil of a deadening eye.

Zoë Green is a Scottish poet who lives in the Thuringian countryside. She has won a Candlestick Press award, been shortlisted for the 2022 London Magazine Poetry Prize and been longlisted for the 2023 Spelt Poetry Prize. She received "Highly Commended" in the Scots poetry category of the 2023 McLellan Poetry Competition. When she’s not writing poetry, she’s teaching literature, boxing, walking her Brittany spaniel or doing yoga. She can stand on her head for several minutes at a time.

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