THE FROGMORE POETRY PRIZE 2011

Moya Pacey

APHASIA

She is dumb as any metal
locked and fastened down with all the words
she knows she used to know.

Words fat as honey-bees with golden pollen
bee-hived in her brain.
Words from beyond the world of heavy plate.

Words she loved.
Words she had for all the green spaces:
leas and glades, rills and birch woods.

She wants to say, she saw this morning:
black tulips – their bullet heads bending
low, low to the paved terrace;
giving up their weight of petals.


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