Days

 

 

There are days

 

that taste like silt

 

and smell like sucker fish

 

and those that are pink and green,

 

rise and set like a bite.

 

Sometimes a day ends with the sound

 

of cut wood tonked onto a pile

 

others a squeal and clang

 

as if under construction.

 

I thought last night,

 

‘The bug flecked bulb,’

 

watching birds traverse the moon,

 

a bitterly cold day as always yet

 

as always sounding

 

like thaw.

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Matt Thomas is a smallholder farmer, engineer, and poet. His recent work can be found in Ponder, Susurrus Magazine, and The Thieving Magpie. Disappearing by the Math, a full-length collection, was published by Silver Bow in 2024. He lives with his family in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia.  

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