Pale

by Susan Utting

I was taught always to scarf and brim my head, soon learned
to huggermug the dark side of a street, seek alleyways
and parasols, to love a cityscape, its towerblocks, its shade.

Through awning-ed glass I've watched the worshippers of heat
go out bareheaded, naked-faced at mid-day screwing up their eyes,
revering, relishing the glare. Had I the voice, I'd tell them lift
a heavy stone, find hidden roots there, flattened flesh grown white;

I'd have them stumble sun-blind into caves, shine torches
into subterranean pools to see the little fishes glimmer,
iridescent, dart and fleet, beautiful, as pale as sugar.

Judge's Comments - Martin Malone

Pale. And interesting. A hymn to the moon-tanned. I loved some of the words used in this poem 'huggermug' and 'brim'. Verbs are so important and can energise a poem; they're opportunities to surprise the reader and this poem demonstrates this. I love its inverse take upon the competition theme; like a photographic negative showing light's obverse.