Tuesday poem: Ursa major

August 8, 2017

Ursa major

Some old ones blow up
and some contract into themselves.
Crab nebula or hermit crab
seems to be the question.
Surely it’s better to reach out,
even with pincers, than to ban light’s
customary caress, its kissing blush of face?
I want to be the crabby old bear,
stained with purple,
snatching berries like song.
Bulking up for my Winter’s
last diminuendo.

PS Cottier

whole-herd-1

A middle-aged poem about age, first published in 2011 in The Mozzie, edited by Ron Heard in Queensland.

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