Stains from the travel weary


All life was compressed inside this travel weary case.

I watch the numbers roll up the scale to 52, the weight

I carry on this journey, on this my final flight

out of here.  Patiently, I stand in line parked

behind an elderly floral coat

and watch the Edelweiss leak


its Alpine scent.  But I think only of our leeks

back in their muddy patch of garden.  In my case,

there were no green fingers, just leaves pale coated

in a frenzy of a thousand flies.  I watched them weighted

down, shrivel, die.  All the hopes I had were parked

with you and on those bulging stems.  But that took flight


too soon.  I delay.  The tannoy screams the number of my flight,

calls me by name, as a single fear escapes and leaks

across my cheek.  Tracks a river down my chin and parks

itself in fragile folds about my neck.  “This case,”

the doctor said,  my name long lost in jargon, his words a weight

as heavy as the sodden woollen coat


I pulled too against the cold.  But other times come, that day coated

in summer rain drops, and footsteps dancing, feet in flight.

And love slicing through the August heat, a heady, weight-

less passion that couldn’t be contained and eyes that leaked

all the lies, spilling like clothes from my overnight case.

 I couldn’t squeeze them back once they’d parked


inside of you.  I shuffle forwards now behind the crowd, park

myself against the conveyor, remove my coat

and fur-lined boots, clang what’s left of me  beside my case.

Shifty eyes scan me like a threat about to board this flight.

But cancer is the terrorist and my illness leaks,

dries, and stains their futures.   They hide their faces, weighted


down by all the words they cannot hold.  I wait,

this moment, as we all will wait and park

my doubts, let only one last request leak

from my lips.  I always wanted a coat

of flowers adorn my empty breast on this, my final flight.

And white lilies to disguise the stench I carry in this case.


©Jacqui Thatcher 2016

If you want to know more about this form of poetry, known as a sestina,  have a look at the link A Formula for Writing Poetry.

Ok, so yes, I have taken a lot of liberties but for me the fact that I have finished such a difficult and challenging task is success in itself.

Fancy trying one?  I would love to read yours so please feel free to send me the link to your post!


Happy writing