For Dad
After ‘The Lark Ascending’ by Vaughan Williams
When we walk down to the canal,
through the industrial estate with its units
of noise and smell, past the field,
so green I swear I can see every blade
needling its way through the alert earth,
you always stop at the sound of a skylark.
‘See if you can see it,’ you say, the light
hitting your bald lifted head, so soft
suddenly against the snow-blue sky.
I am as impatient as a parent with you,
and hurry us on through early spring’s
late snap of cold, forgetting
that this is your atheist’s prayer –
this spotting of birds, of fish;
the naming of every tree and tiny moss;
the pointing out of every pinprick of miracle
to an unbelieving daughter.
Isabelle Thompson is soon to graduate from Bath Spa University with a degree in Creative Writing. She has a place to study for an MA in poetry in September.