Freedom 2

we have watched
them walk into the wind
and hang in the creak and rustle
of full sails
in the clear air above Mount Caburn

there the words
are the curves of the hill
her creases and shadowed folds
the trickles of scent, fox sharp
among nettles and briars
small furtive movements
and a hawk so high up
silent
still

here the words are
the field boundaries
easing out
the gnarled trees
set in their ways
they are broken and unbroken
promises
taking off,
startled,
thrilled
at the parting

 

 

Freedom 3

Trapped like a sepia print
I cannot look you squarely in the eye
You must hold still

Your mind travels
Without permission
To many strange places

Buffalo and wild green maps
Come to your room
An unfriendly chicken

Settles itself on your bed
You pluck at the covers
Sometimes we wave it away

And sometimes we cry
All of us and laugh
Because we are falling

Slowly into another place.
The sampler made in 1824
Reminds us of industry

And improvement
In the young.
Stories weave in and out

Of us.
Then we are still.

 

 

Covert

nestling between
two brassy consonants

and hiding under cover
unconcealed

your o could be a cipher
or lament

a lost breath lying underneath
the ocean

the breathless song of whales
is not more pure

for travelling through storms
so when you leave

embrace me with a calculating heart
and tell me it is over

 

 

Crumble

I have cut out all the rot
the scab, the canker

the codling moths
are flown

spot, pox, and mould
excised

my careful knife
has peeled decay

and autumn lies in shreds
about the table

 

Copyright © Janet Sutherland, 2004.