Circulation
Crouched above the stream he dug,
known by his kid-along brother
as the dry gulch, its circulation pump
rarely switched on, I’m not just
weeding but digging wormy compost
into the banks, pruning the hebe
and dredging winter’s detritus, banishing
slime and renewing the silted pebbles,
till by the end of this warm afternoon
a long bubbling flow springs from the top
of the garden, hurrying between rocks
before tumbling into the pond and back
as he comes home with a coin of blood
on the bandage at his wrist, occlusions
in his arteries, an aortic valve on the blink
and a hospital date some months ahead.
Later we talk gardening, my daughter
and I, the clogged stream, free-flowing
now. In some societies that’d be
job done, she says — we laugh.
Jenny Hockey is a Sheffield poet who’s published in magazines such as The North; Ink Sweat & Tears; The Frogmore Papers and Dreamcatcher. She reviews for Orbis and her collection, Going to bed with the moon appeared in 2019 (overstepsbooks.com) (jennyhockeypoetry.co.uk)