A Sonnet after Harwood
She awakes. The grind of a garbage truck
lifting a bin to empty its contents.
An eruption of glass and fetid fruit.
Swallows the caustic bile that coats her throat.
The room is stale, suffocating, soupy,
anesthetising the morning and thought.
Gritty panes filter straining strands of light
forming aged latticework across the rug.
And all the while the world, once open like
a newspaper is clutched against her chest.
Like trying to contain a feral cat
within a model paper mâché heart.
Shreds drift to the ground as lazy streamers,
the remnants of a ticker-tape parade.
Megan Cartwright (she/her) is an educator and writer who attempts to make sense of the nonsensical via poetry. Her writing has appeared in October Hill Magazine, Blue Bottle Journal and oddball magazine. Her latest work is due to appear in Quadrant Magazine later this year