What was Lost

Something black is humped
far ahead on the path.
Perhaps some small creature fallen
from where it should be. I am unsure
whether I saw it move.

Once I found a fledgling crow on the pavement,
lifted it to a low branch on the tree above.

Its claws gripped my hand, would not let go
while it shrieked distress at my human touch
and adults wheeled overhead, rusty screeches
trembling the leaves and scratching my ears
in outrage at my interference.

Now I see it is a leather glove on the path
rain-sodden and mud-spattered.
Its fingers creased, where knuckles
bent, arching the back into a hump.

It’s a large glove, stitching split along the thumb.
It would fit a big hand, a strong hand,
a glove worn to dig a trench or hold a ladder-rung.

The creased wrist brushes against a tweed sleeve
or peeps from a pocket, the material frayed on a lapel,
tobacco-scented and scratchy against my cheek.

Angela France has had poems published in many of the leading journals and has been anthologised a number of times. Her fifth collection, Terminarchy, came out July 2021 with Nine Arches Press. Angela teaches at the University of Gloucestershire and in various community settings. She runs a reading series in Cheltenham, ‘Buzzwords’.