Earth Hour – a poem

Earth Hour

This hour is fat, yet still it hangs by a knife
blade. We’re not ready to brave the cut.
Instead we admire the plumpness, run
a nail across the surface. Its scent fills

our skins. We hesitate. Do we feast
on the flesh, allow our tongues the juice?
Or shall we let it drop, explode to the floor,
and watch it splatter? Will we let it seep

through our wounds; congeal our blood until
we solidify? Or, instead do we do nothing but
admire its form, unsure of ourselves?
Do nothing, but wait while its wholeness

withers as it shrinks to its own skin,
and another hour approaches, despite us.

Jenny Hope

Jenny Hope is a writer, poet, nature lover, creative, word gatherer, wild woman and workshop facilitator. She lives on a hill in wildish Worcestershire. Visit her website and follow her on Twitter @poetrymakers