POEM OF THE WEEK 199
Hawthorn
by Zaffar Kunial

I like it when memories aren’t pinned
haughtily to words, but come to find
them, slowly on the bridge
of a warm breeze filled emptily
with blackbird songs, a robin
twisting its invisible screw
and a more piercing song
I can’t yet name, and beside it a scent
that belongs at the slow start
of another summer, alive
and pungent and unattached
then to the off-white flowers
a little distance off from this bench
and the name, the name.

chosen by Geoff Wilde