N J Griffiths

Category: poetry

  • Vermilion


    Raw amnesia like mornings,

    like pillows, your hair falling,

    spilling into weeks. 

    Can you see the words 

    I leave for you? A trail

    in light, likeness in the linseed,

    vermilion in turpentine. I close 

    the windows. Watch my hands

    pluck memory from carpet strands

    I stand too close, I see too much

    I ask to forget and then – 

     – morning again – clear

    and wretched

    and almost beyond thought.

    © Nia Jane Griffiths 2024

  • Weight

    Comfort in the soft fur,

    the leathered couch,

    distractions before she 

    leaves you for the night.


    Downstairs, drunk and

    dozing, a home you’ve

    made soft in all but

    edges. A late day,


    a weekend. You think

    back to what you wrote

    before. Bent knees. Hands.

    Fingers. Lingering cries. 


    She hears you. Turns

    another page. Reads words

    you could have written

    but didn’t. 

    © All rights reserved. Nia Griffiths 2022.