I bring you jays and woodpeckers.
Instead of Mother’s Pride white sand
and turquoise bars, here are
lavender, wild thyme and leggy sage.
In place of Columba’s Bay:
this shrivelled stream, that sunken river.
I bring you bitten fingernails
and scabs across my knuckles
where a rock got in the way.
Also weeding, homework, soap suds,
dead mice, chicken shit,
a henhouse that needs cleaning.
I bring you questions, pleas, refusals, favours
and my mother-in-law’s constant interruptions.
I bring you a paler version of myself.
I bring you eggs.
About this poem
Shortlisted in the Live Canon 2020 International Poetry Prize