Bull
Two downs dip and meet;
they are my haunches, back.
I’m sturdy like a bull.
I’m strong and fisted,
barreling into you,
your hands all over me.
Sitting here now, alone,
I’m stung by the hawthorn
that snatches sheep’s wool.
Then sunlight comes,
rolling across me slowly,
reaching into things.
And squeals of children
spiral up the valley:
playtime at my first school.
My cells begin to sing;
I’ll hold on to your hands
as a memory in my skin.
Charlotte Gann has had poems in The South magazine, First Time, Poetry Monthly and iddie. She won a competition run by The South for a draft collection, and second prize in the 2008 Writers Bureau competition. She is currently doing an MA at Sussex University.
Page(s) 25
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