Manna Ash by Stephanie Powell
the manna ash is weeping sugar
a tart nest, almost honey.
from a balcony in the city
its flowers appear only just
thicker than dust. from up here it
is always looking ready for take-off.
trunk bitten with holes like mouths
for singing, like a good choir
on a clear day. its roots waiting
at the edge of an ocean
of concrete. a hedgerow,
a line of kneeling dissidents.
a couple of cans of stella like
loose teeth in the branch-mess.
the people down there too
shaped into blank spoon
bends of the a-roads, the city blocks.
these buildings, always looking halfway
through a song that starts –
oh grace, oh grace, oh grace.
You can hear Stephanie reading her poem here: