Sip of Hope
Marion Horton
Lips close to mouth purse.
Another sip.
Swirl and with
a gold rim glint
flip, chink, be upturned.
Practiced. Learned.
Black dots of ravens
cursing.
Owls screeching.
Rising from the honeyed base.
Spreading omens – last of breaths.
Countless deaths.
Silent clothes –
no jangly, beady.
Greasy apron, undressed curls
tucked behind unjewelled ears.
No warm black fur.
Just her.
She looks twice.
Shapes shift to lucky oak.
Healthy jug meets second sight.
Vaticinator vaccinate.
Spreading ease,
With soothing leaves.
