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.