Poem
Clare Pollard
LOVELY TREES
LOVELY TREES
LOVELY TREES
That first autumn our home was ugly with dust;infuriating with boxes, planks,
buckets we used to flush the loo.
We had no curtains.
Bed-level, you couldn’t see the building site.
We’d wake to a square of tree against sky —
leaves yellow as Pasteis de Nata;
dawn-lit paper lanterns.
On one branch a caught plastic-bag breathed;
on another pigeons, still trying to nap,
kept themselves tucked in —
plump grey jugs.
A great-tit would jiggle, head tilted
as though in understanding.
And below, of course, roots were gagging the drains,
graffiti-ing lightning on walls,
teasing cracks for rats,
and we knew, come New Year, the trees had to be felled —
just as we had to plaster, scrub, paint,
rewire, maintain, move on…
But still, each day you’d wake up
to those glowing tatters and smile.
Say: the tree looks lovelier every day.
And I’d nod, and push thoughts of winter away,
as all lovers must refuse the thought of winter.
© 2008, Clare Pollard
Publisher: First published on PIW,
Publisher: First published on PIW,
Clare Pollard
(United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, 1978)
Clare Pollard grew up in Bolton and later read English at Cambridge University. She now lives in London where she teaches poetry at the City Lit. She has published three collections of poetry with Bloodaxe: The Heavy Petting Zoo (1998), Bedtime (2002) and Look, Clare, Look! (2005). The first of these was largely written while she was still at school and she was subsequently chosen by the Poetry...
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Poems of Clare Pollard
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LOVELY TREES
That first autumn our home was ugly with dust;infuriating with boxes, planks,
buckets we used to flush the loo.
We had no curtains.
Bed-level, you couldn’t see the building site.
We’d wake to a square of tree against sky —
leaves yellow as Pasteis de Nata;
dawn-lit paper lanterns.
On one branch a caught plastic-bag breathed;
on another pigeons, still trying to nap,
kept themselves tucked in —
plump grey jugs.
A great-tit would jiggle, head tilted
as though in understanding.
And below, of course, roots were gagging the drains,
graffiti-ing lightning on walls,
teasing cracks for rats,
and we knew, come New Year, the trees had to be felled —
just as we had to plaster, scrub, paint,
rewire, maintain, move on…
But still, each day you’d wake up
to those glowing tatters and smile.
Say: the tree looks lovelier every day.
And I’d nod, and push thoughts of winter away,
as all lovers must refuse the thought of winter.
LOVELY TREES
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