'Ashes, Ashes' by Nicky Peters
Image from Unsplash
They say they know ash,
what they know as ash.
They know ashes, charcoal,
old woodland stench of decaying me,
they know fraxinus excelsior,
as if I could excel at being fractured
and coppiced and multiple all at once.
They know ash dieback, disease,
an arm, a leg, all disposable,
a fissured nose or cheek or tongue
the colour of ash
ready to fall on any spectator.
There was another word
for this self that is splintered
and splintering vertically.
Onnen, which is ash
or as onan only one.
But I am fifty, I am a hundred,
my trunks are eleven,
soon to be none.
Gizzard split,
sing-song leaves
dropping away. Simple as.
Words by Nicky Peters
Images from Unsplash
Edited by Emily Gough