Poetry Magazines - The best collection of poetry magazines online - Simon Armitage

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

« Previous item
Contents of this issue
Next item »

Anne Ryland

print this page

The Upper Hand

You perch in the bedroom, a hard body
on its haunches with your steel pores
forming a face of eyes which never sleep;
I know your gleam at the edge of my dreams.

My mother, beguiled by your silver snout,
surrendered herself as your servant,
flattening her thoughts and doubts
as she transformed bundles into right-angles

while I stood next to her like a witness
wielding my child’s tiny iron,
a tame one that stuck to the wall with a lick,
trying hard to press but powerless.

I have learned to hold you with a steady hand,
steering you into tucks and nooks
where the fluff lurks, and the conflict
between what I want and what I should be.

I am able to admire your speed and grace;
how you crush limp folds into blades,
hiss away chaos to create blank spaces.
I have mastered you, just,

but the day of your triumph may yet come,
when I lose my grip or forget you;
scorching and spitting
you will leave your stamp on my life forever.

Page(s) 60

Back to top