The day the earth changed,subtly,Kevin was sitting in her garden
taking in the natural beauty of astutely blossoming plants
whilst listening to a requiem for a dream;
an urgent gasp of strings consorting as the planets aligned.
It was all so apparently normal and benign that
he failed to notice how the small prayer flags, flapping
gently behind an olive tree, had broken the links
in a fence that separated neighbour from neighbour.
A small occurrence that gathered significance in the day
as the wind blew through the aeolian harp of the world.
That child of time,Kevin,alone in the garden.
There had been recent talk of modern superstition and ritual
How Rama’s apparent failing might have been his hind-sight.
A shard of mirror laying on an empty heart shaped diya
underneath the fuschias and geraniums reflect
sunlight back into the garden. A wasp worrriedly
carrying it’s shadow across a patio floor.
Kevin mumbled about poetics to himself,how it informs policy
about what Sita must do in her ring of fire.
Peter Handley was born in a small village next to what was Sherwood Forest in the first decade at the beginning of the end of the age of Aquarius. He has been variously described as an arty farty twat and an Indian Oscar award winning actor and writer. He is published in numerous literary journals, trained, amongst other places, at Bristol Old Vic Theatre School and continues to tell stories and bullshit in all the right hostelries to promote positive growth all around the world and in his back garden. His first solo exhibition of works on paper is due out in a fancy gallery in Vienna late 2014.