Maggie Butt

Self Portrait in Blue Room

Part room, part sky, high in a house
just anchored to the world, straining
like a kite, tugging at its string;
the curve of ceiling, curve of roof,
lifting off into a cobalt sky; a lark-wing
room to ride the summer thermals,
soar and swoop in cornflower light,
reflected from sea to wedgwood walls;
and the days ahead in a mermaid room
for growing gills and never surfacing
to breathe; and me in the room, spun out
from the world in the blue of the light
and the seagull cries and the bark
of a dog and the crisp of the air;
free-wheeling down a country hill,
feet off the pedals, wild into the wind.