Finding the hill again
Wear a coat, you’ll pass through light rain at the wood-edge
under Helmeth. Sing loudly, so the snakes can hear you.
There’ll be birdcall, leaf-mould, path-fall to the brook.
You’ll splash the ford and settle to the slope.
Set your boots in the round-toed footprints of last year.
The climb to Three Fingers Rock will knock out your breath.
Say a prayer to the sharp-eyed gods of the Gaer Stone
Speak aloud. Do it more than the once.
On the rock, in the wind, you’ll know again that hand-hollow
heartlift crest. Caradoc – upflung, sudden, pony of a hill.
Jean Atkin’s third full collection High Nowhere is newly published by IDP. Previous publications include How Time is in Fields (IDP); The Bicycles of Ice and Salt (IDP) and Fan-peckled (Fair Acre Press). She is a poet in education and community. www.jeanatkin.com