Hawthorn
The gangrene smell is gone
by the time the berries grow,
and I am tempted to cut
red branches and arrange them
in jam jars throughout the house,
too full of sour
roasting fruit to remember
the warning I heeded in May.
I start to wear acorns on my fingertips
and chew conkers for poison.
I make a poultice out of the last
of the nettles, and hang a bramble
wreath on the front door.
I recreate the conditions for rot
and usher it in,
watching for moss on my ankles.
I make a forest floor of my bedroom
and tape fat, speckled spiders
to the letterbox
with their own webs.
Daisy Henwood is a writer, tutor and arts producer. She received her PhD from UEA in 2020. She has been commissioned by Norwich City Council and BBC Norfolk. She is writer-in-residence at the Wherry School and lives in Norwich.