Longlisted Poem 2013

Mica Lowe

Stanborough School, Welwyn Garden City, Hertfordshire

An Unequal Parallel

We are gathered;
a faction of all peers.
Beneath ne’er below the cassock.
In sight of God;
in sight of ardour,
armoured by all, my beloved,
at last.

A row of rigid pews
bow as pass we by.  Twist as eye to eye,
hearsay serves to pass the time.
tis by design,
(as flawless as God’s lines)
shan’t tear the altar down.
‘All is mine!’ They cry,
‘Tis mine!’

Give away thy child – her hankered heart –
whose elder’s calloused hands
fix lilies to the bridegroom’s gown;
who scowl, and put,
ne’er frown.

Her pale face; pallid –
displaced – by word of mouth.
The bride her scalded hands,
in petite kid gloves, white as sand.
The bridegroom;
eyes of thy mother.
Those lashes snag a tear.
Thy bodice laced with chain
enmeshed with fear.
Shan’t ne’er stand here.

And in her hands –
thy gloves of sand –
lie white red roses they kept dear.
© Mica Lowe

Project Details

  • Date January 17, 2015
  • Tags 2013 The Details - Longlisted Poems