Autumn
October
when my red-haired mother was found.
Lying still,
insect-thin, sleeping. Though
her lips were the
bluest they’d ever been.
Neighbours called: offered broth.
I’d ran, hidden amongst reed grasses,
gripped thistle heads and blackberry thorns, let them sear my skin.
I’d inhaled smells of damp earth and decay,
exhaled snot and tears.
Watched the wind move
the garden gate
made it creak in hollow invitation
made the rowan leaves twitch
like witches fingers, casting red spells
through stolen night.
Andrea Bowd is a recent graduate of Nottingham University achieving a first class degree in Creative and Professional Writing. She is now studying for a Masters Degree in Creative Writing. Andrea has some success as a poet, having some of her poems published in Dreamcatcher, Skylark, Mud Press and Snakeskin. Her latest published poem is available here, courtesy of Snakeskin: http://www.snakeskinpoetry.