EMILY SYNDROME
stuck some poems
in a folder
ready for revision
(Oh,
happy day!)
left them not
so long but
long
longer than
intended
albeit without Sun
or air or
indeed watering
at all
so imagine my delight shock
and horror that
day of
days, moment
of reopening
when found the little bastards
to have thrived
and multiplied, some
even grown in size
to embrace the gamut
from
split little
atom through to
Pandora of expanding universe
poem growing up
prophetic,
apocalyptic
whispering, screeching
to the Universe
their
primal truth as mirror
and
testimony (dear
reader)
to all
expanding size