In A Black Country
It was in the countryside
that it came into being,
traipsing black mud in the hallway.
Was it something you said
that invited it in?
What could you clamp in your hands
to stifle the words
clanging against your teeth?
You are in the country,
with the safety catch on,
layers of blankets wrapped around your head,
and yet it knocks.
And yet it opens the door
by itself. It tracks you down
to the country.
It stands there, holding its head
in black hands
with blackened fingernails.
Black mud falls from its boots
to the thin red carpet.
You look down at the red,
Turn your head and look out
into the grey.
You tip your chin up and gaze
at the white ceiling.
But where its face should be
is a black hole
and it draws you in.
Mary Jacob is Californian relocated to Wales. Recent poems have appeared in Uut Poetry, Wales Within, The Wait, Flux, Centrifuge, Long Exposure and more. She organises the Words&words&words poetry series at the Aberystwyth Arts Centre.