Wall of Honour Sharon
Black Green Sun Was that what made me turn my head at that precise moment to tell you I wanted you – our bodies warming under a stark sky on the patchwork blanket we’d spread across the blueberry scrub; an alien heat beating down, cooking up a daring I wasn’t sure I had? Then your hands pale and smooth on me; the strange commotion of our first kiss, your lips firmer than I thought they’d be, different from his. Later we couldn’t find the path – I panicked I wouldn’t make it home to see the kids
– but a track with painted arrows led us winding to your truck. In the dashboard vents the yellow gentians I’d picked had wilted on the burning plastic; the pink thistles were standing, lop-sided, heads hanging like lanterns as if one voice had given up shouting a warning and the other was showing the way. ‘Green Sun’ by Sharon Black won First
Prize in the Sentinel Annual Poetry Competition 2013 | 
