Nest of Christmas
The lane flows with the light of Christmas morning
that feels like a yolk breaking,
maybe because we are breaking the world’s shell.
It lights up single spider webs like silver silk
and my dog leads the way through frosty mud.
My mum’s at home cooking spuds.
My mum’s at home in the kitchen feeling out of luck.
My mum’s at home presents unwrapped
and her wedding ring still on,
is she still trapped.
My mum’s at home and my dad is burnt
and under a shared grave.
My dad’s at home, opposite end of the UK.
My dad’s at home no longer drinking.
My dad’s at home for the first time
because isn’t home meant to mean peace.
We’ve reached the end of the lane.
The yolk is fully broken
but it’s still Christmas day
and I’ll unwrap this still and quiet.
Helen Grant has been published in several magazines. She has been longlisted for The Live Canon 2019, shortlisted for The Mairtin Crawford 2019, and Creative Future Writer’s award 2020 and was a finalist in The League of Poets competition 2021.
Twelve Days
On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me
One in the eye
On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Two hoots but he said he didn’t
On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Three wishes then he made me tell him what they were
but I didn’t tell the truth no I had my fingers crossed
behind my back
On the fourth day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Four horsemen
On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Five old things
On the sixth day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Six [see below]
On the seventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Seven because [see above] I’m always at sixes and sevens
On the eighth day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Eight pieces of eight then he said come on let’s hear you
squawk like a parrot
On the ninth day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Nine lives then he said ha-ha only kidding and took them all back
except one and he’s thinking about that one
On the tenth day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Ten Commandments: ‘Thou Shalt Not You-Know-What’
and all the rest of them
On the eleventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Eleven hours and he said this is it this is your last chance
On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Twelve red roses I cut off their heads stuck
the stems in a vase for my true love to find
threw out the blooms but
kept one pressed here
between
these
pages
Lydia Kennaway’s A History of Walking (HappenStance) was published in 2019. She has an MA in Writing Poetry from Newcastle University. Her poems have appeared in fifteen anthologies and in magazines including The Rialto and Stand, and she won the Flambard Prize in 2017. Lydia is a New Yorker living in Yorkshire.
Possibility of violence
Mary’s not talking to Joseph, and the back end of the donkey
has walked off. Behind the curtain someone is wailing,
and there’s a pool of water in the centre of the stage.
Miss Duncan’s voice is getting higher as she says ‘Fingers on lips.’
The head teacher takes a surreptitious sip from a flask,
and the caretaker holds a ladder under the star
as if he’s at a crucifixion. Parents in the front row look anxious,
while Mrs Smith’s phone goes off and everyone glares as she shouts
‘I’m in a play.’ Three four year old wise men troop in looking glum
‘We come from the East.’ ‘End,’ someone quips.
Deliver lines about ‘mare’ and ‘Frank in scents.’
But one’s really into it: ‘And a wondrous babe shall be born.’
The star above the ladder wobbles and a terrier starts barking.
Mary, now holding Joseph’s hand, howls. Children
lie down on the wet patch. ‘It’s symbolic,’ says a parent.
Miss Duncan taps her stick: ‘Wauls as far as Bolton.’
And Chantelle sings: ‘Away in a Manger.’ The hall swells,
the dog croons, the curtains come down to applause.
There’s a collection for homeless youth, and a homeless youth outside
can’t believe his luck when everyone gives spare change.
Mary hands him the baby, says it’s ‘pooh pooh’ anyway.
Over in the shopping centre, Christmas light flash on, flash off.
Kath Mckay has published three collections of poetry, (Smith Doorstop, Smiths Knoll and Wrecking Ball Press). Anyone Left Standing won The Poetry Business competition. Her novel, Hard Wired ( 2016) won the Northern Crime Novel writing competition. She co-edited I wouldn’t start from here, about the Irish diaspora (Wild Geese Press, 2019) . Poetry features in The North (October 2023) and Poetry with an Axe to Grind (Rialto, September 2023).