All morning the sky hasn’t budged despite my search for signs of change
the trees are silent, smudged dove grey
it looks like rain but nothing comes.
It seems I’m the only one alive again, until the jackdaws drop into focus
landing in the spruce, unsettling a cone which might fall forever.
Twelve the last time I counted-
this year’s brood cradled in the chimney, chackling me awake on lighter mornings
but I didn’t mind, it was reassuring to hear life and death outside.
All the half- feathered songbird chicks, born for this.
Now they eye me from thin needled twigs, a slick flick of wing, a sideways wink.
Don’t feed the jackdaws, my husband said, but he’s not here
and my pockets are ripe with fruit and seeds.
I hoped yellow things might save me
bought tulips and freesias, tied a ribbon to my
bed frame. I plucked the hearts from daisies and tucked them
in my pillow slip, drew the curtains wide and waited for full moons
and sunshine. I lost contact with my knees first, and then my
hips. Didn’t know a body could fall silent. The doctor prescribed
dandelions – fields full, ticking with thrips and hover flies
and when I found one I stayed for days, but more parts of me
fell away –knuckles, wrists. Memories began to fade. Perhaps
it was too late. The X-rays suggested I was whole, but
disconnecting, and I knew I should’ve welcomed yellow back
before, because it was my first love, and I left it,
and it transpires that yellow is vital.
there’s ivy –
wrap yourself in it
cling tight to trees, let blackbirds build nests
in your pockets. When daffodils are silent
and ewes refuse to give up their loads, find ivy.
No beginning or end, ivy
Squirrels get up early when the grass is damp with dew,
they skip around on tiptoes so their paws don’t get soaked through.
They’re busy seeking conkers stashed safely since September
but squirrels seem quite scatty, and usually can’t remember…
where they carried conkers to on golden autumn days –
did they slip them under stones, or drag them to their dreys?
And so when spring has sprung, when the weather’s wet and warm,
they’ll be skipping round horse chestnut trees sprouting in my lawn.