Mari
walks in the woods
when the high winds come
and never thinks of falling pines.
On Tuesday I picked her beans;
she took them with eyes like a child’s
and hands as rich and brown
as the Assam tea she loves.
On Thursday I left blackcurrants at her back door.
Later I found them stamped across the path.
In the village they shrug it off:
‘She has good days. She has bad days.’
Mari walks in the woods
and the pines listen.
She tells me the farmer is harrowing
by the pattern of rooks above.
She says the post van is coming down the lane
from the way the goldfinches take fright.
magazine list
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- Rialto, The
- Second Aeon
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- Shearsman
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- Staple
- Strange Faeces
- Tabla Book of New Verse, The
- Thumbscrew
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- Ugly Tree, The
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- Yellow Crane, The