One morning we woke to find the city
composed entirely of glass, prismatic
in the low sun glancing off sharp edges.
Not one object remained that had not bled
its colour into the ground in the night.
From the deep shock-proof shells of offices
to the etched headlines on delicate sheets
of stacked papers, everything was washed clear.
Only the pavements, foundations and roads
kept unaltered their original form,
supporting the city’s fragile sculpture.
And, exposed behind glass walls, carefully
closed glass doors, life continues. A woman
cautiously taps a piano’s frail keys,
the silica strings resonate, each note
a high-pitched, drawn-out crystalline scream
that quavers, threatens to but does not break.
Ben Parker studied creative writing at UEA and has had work published in a number of places, including Iota, Staple and Eyewear. His website can be found at www.benparkerpoetry.co.uk.