as the train rumbles on past platforms of small stations
trees sunlit meadows I note you sitting opposite
letting the sun burn on your arms
highlighting criss-cross scars
wearing them as a matter of fact
with no embarrassment or glory
each bloodied rut traced by frantic fingers
I open my bag for a tissue
ask like a fool if I can help
blow my nose as you mouth no
in your glare I recall a snake
writhing in the bush hiding amongst thorns
he only wanted to sun himself when I disturbed him
..
juli Jana: poet & visual artist
live in London and abroad
did MRes at Roehampton university
active in poetry workshops and gatherings
I am not a silent poet 