Mountain Lover
You stand there like someone who left
six thousand years ago and I was to blame.
You will not speak of your symptoms of being,
you couldn’t give a fuck.
Always that distant look
but I can walk to you in an hour.
Your feet — who knows where they begin?
Granite splashes among gorse,
bracken booby-trapped with thorn
but farther up, your sudden naked slant
like x-ray ribs I slip between.
I just want your indifference,
to breathe your breath,
climb out of what anything means.
Ruth Higgins lives near Tring and has been published by Ink Sweat & Tears, Alba, Kettle’s Yard and Ver Poets.
magnolia head
I want to take you home
peel off all your leaves one by one
to find your centre
do I mean leaves or petals
do I mean love
or lust or fucking
I think about this too much
walk on past where you lie
on the cold grey pavement
you opened yourself up
in deep time
no-one was around
not even the buzz of a honey bee
you had to let something in
let it crawl inside of you
through your tough petals
into your star shape flower head
to drink from the goblet of you
did you call it love
or lust
or fucking
or just lie back let it happen
for the sake of pollination
at one end you are a surprise of fuzz
I am afraid to peel your leaves
or is it petals now that I could
my thumbnail has already left a darkness
Laura McKee has been trying to learn the names of wildflowers, bees, and butterflies. Her first pamphlet, take care of your hooves darling, is due out in Spring 2023 with Against the Grain Press.