LITTLE GIRLS LYING IN THE SNOW AND ICY AIR

In that hour of the afternoon,
Quiet and bare, the leaves having long since fallen,
The woods set firm, thick and heavy,
Sending shape and shadow creeping towards us,
My friend lay in the bunk next to mine
And I watched her.

Watched the bunk slowly topple over,
Saw her black hair suddenly veiled with blossom,
A slow and icy blossom of snow,
Touching her closed eyes, restless and flickering
Under their thin brown skin covering.

I could not breathe for fear but fell beside her,
Lying there, watching her, anxiously whispering.
I could not move until they picked her up,
Gathering her to them like a fallen flower,
A crumpled petal.  Carrying her away.

Now the wicked woods shook with laughter,
Bare branches creaking with loss
And its greedy companion, loneliness.
Snow falling quietly on all the little girls
Lying in the snow and icy air.

                                          © 2019 Gwen Grant        

WEATHER WARNING

They had a terrible falling out,
One hurting the other
Until, little by little,
Love seeped away
Through the cracks newly discovered,
Leaving them on islands of pain.
There was nothing to be done,
For nothing could reach them.

Until they spoke to the Future,
Waiting until it got back to them.
Lover needing to reach Lover,
To sail across this sea of misunderstanding.
End this separation.
Quick!  Hasten to do it.
Hurry!  Fashion a boat out of love,
Sail it fast to each other.

Tapping its teeth with a long coral finger,
The Future said it couldn’t see any problem
As long as they had a conveyance that would float.
Murmuring of wrecks and wild weather.
Laughing out loud when they told it
What they would be sailing in,
Making whales sneeze and shells clatter
As first one said and then the other,
Each would be sailing in their own stone boat.

                      ©2021 Gwen Grant.     

        HEARSAY

I walked all the way from town
And it was such a dark night.
The moon slipping in and out
Of the silent sky,
As if it were newly silvered
And couldn’t bear to be hidden.

My steps sounding as loud
As a snapped branch in the wind,
I jumped off the paving
Onto the dirt path running by the river,
Where, every now and then,
Stars sailed in the water and drowned.

I was always told, as a certainty,
That the young men marched down here,
Heading to where their Lovers
And watchful mothers waited.
Getting so close to home,
Their shadows sparkled on closed doors,
Their feet stepping quietly
Down the garden path, mostly on the grass,
Not to waken those still listening.

The world quivered at such tenderness,
Night folding in upon itself,
Folding in upon love, adding and multiplying.

The dog barked and the cat
Wound around a frill of empty air,
And someone in the sleeping house
Looked out of a window,
There was nothing to be seen.

But, as everyone knows, that didn’t mean
No-one was there.

                      © 2021 Gwen Grant              

Watching the sudden seagulls in the garden, I wondered what brought
them here as we are miles from any seawater.  We have had  a lot of
flooding water but they’re not interested in that.  Perhaps it seems a
more sympathetic environment but I used to think that if they stayed
too long, the magpies would gang up on them. Now, I’m not so sure
after reading a whole bunch of stories of their extreme aggression during
these pandemic times. A misty afternoon with seagulls like snowflakes and
a ginger cat furious about being kept inside.

ALWAYS OUT THERE

Those seagulls in our garden
Are a long way from water.
Doing what we all do, I suppose,
Looking for a future
Just a little bit better.

© 2019 Gwen Grant

 
WOLF WIND

The wind comes wary,
Like a quiet wolf
Sneaking through the trees,
Watching what’s lying
In front of him.

This house blown down,
That tree uprooted.
The whole of one small town
Wrecked by the wolf wind’s fury.

Except for that little corner
Where Lovers plot and plan
       their glowing future.
Feeling the wolf’s sharp teeth
       nibbling,
They kiss and deny him.
Rap his nose and send him home
        crying.

       ©2021 Gwen Grant