I Seek to Stumble

Bramble switches lay quiet
waiting
waiting for unwary feet running haphazardly
prick
stab
tumble
blood on my new stockings.

Yesterday, only yesterday I
washed them and now
rust stains and

tiny tears
rolling down my cheeks.
The meadow looked so green,
how was I to know?

Perhaps my feet picked the thorns
not unaware at all, 
but subconscious
toes seeking stocking revenge. 

© Emily Bragg 2013

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In Crusade

Walk along a board thick enough
To support you
And pretend it’s not a tightrope.
Pretend the audience hanging from the ends
Are invisible, are there
To support you.
Don’t mince steps;
Walk freely, strong in the face of falling.
When the rope turns gossamer-thin,
Pretend you feel more beneath the splintering air than spite,
And the words floating up, the jeers and catcalls shaking spider-thin assurance
Pretend they are music and cheers.
Look into the eyes of the perched lion
With his trust-soaked eyes,
Who waits across the divide.