Sparklen Bottle
Grandma’s sparklen
in the winterdark house where I grew up
loved me the best:
I pushed my nose up close
to see fireflies leap and sputter,
glow-worms climb
and fall in tiny squeezes,
flayed hearts of angels –
I know she whispered
so those wandering would come
curious, too close,
then with a swift oblique
twist she’d have them
in. I like to think
it wasn’t wishing
only but in the black mantle
of that house her sparklen
throbs still with hostage stars
and deep-sea phosphors,
tinsel glitterings of those
she couldn’t kill.
(‘sparklen’ Middle English: also ‘sparken’, to spark)
Pippa Little runs reflective writing workshops for students and is working on her third collection.