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Poetry Library Southbank Centre - The Poetry Library housing the Arts Council Collection at Southbank Centre

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Emma Lee

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Ignorance is not bliss

Every time I asked where cloth came from
I met a blank.
I ran through fields of cotton,
chased lambs,
but the peasants wouldn’t explain how
flax became thread,
nor shepherds how fleece became wool.
Magic, they said.
My father, the king, was too busy to ask.
My mother told me not to bother her,
but looked hurt,
as if she was at a funeral.

I thought I knew the whole castle
but I found an open doorway.
Opened it and saw a peasant woman
working a funny contraption: wheel and
                                                          footpedal,
flax-fibre and thread. I asked if I might
                                                             watch
and drew closer:
seeing how the fibres twisted into one.

I asked if I could try. She showed me.
Was beginning to get the hang of it too:
there was no magic to it.
Then the dinner-gong sounded
and I felt a brief flare of pain.
Looked down at a bright blood bubble.
A tiny cut, nothing really:
a prick from a rose thorn.
I licked my finger, excused myself
but didn’t go down to dinner.
Went to my room.
I felt so drowsy...

 

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