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Sport 37: Winter 2009

The unforgiven grandmother

The unforgiven grandmother

I come from over the hills,
leave my tell-tale horse in the trees
and come by walking, silent.

I carry my good right hook, just in case
she tries anything.

I catch her near the gooseberry nets.
Surprised, she comes too close
then has to pretend she never
says or thinks anything.

I am a flowerfield she has to pick
her way through very carefully.

There are wasps all over the jam
in the kitchen. She hasn't had time.

I go with her to the ship in the unlit room
building itself slowly stick by stick in the dark.