The Lily Rag

Morning’s grey scale masks 
the blurred foundation of a 
street wincing at the sun as
I peer at the morning still 
only half-awake, blearily
seeking my car. Then the 
lilies catch my eye. Their 
trumpets are pristine sugar 
sculptures, moulded in 
sleek art-deco form, their
gramophone horns pumping 
notes of syncopated hot 
jazz into their speakeasy 
garden. Their nectar is
distilled moonshine and
the joint is abuzz like an
ugly bug ball. Bees hover
like undercover cops about 
to conduct a raid. But they
flaunt their brassy stamens 
like flapper earrings, shimmying 
to the breeze as other flowers 
catch their drift and join 
them, in dance gowns of 
hot pink and fiery orange, 
flirting their leaves like 
handkerchief hems, as 
the bright young thing 
morning steps out onto 
the floor. 

---

Kate Meyer-Currey was born in 1969 and moved to Devon in 1973. A varied career in frontline settings has fuelled her interest in gritty urbanism, contrasted with a rural upbringing. Her ADHD also instils a sense of ‘other’ in her life and writing. She currently has over forty poems published in print and e journals including Not Very Quiet, Mono, Granfalloon and Poetica Review. ‘Gloves’ recently made top 100 in the UK’s ‘PoetryforGood’ competition for healthcare workers. Her first chapbook County Lines (Dancing Girl Press) comes out later this year.