We don’t decide who we love.
Who we hate, yes,
who we’re jealous of,
but never who we end up loving.

Someone is taking a photo
at a wedding
of their baby
at a celebration.

These hills that look towards both weald and waves
hold – in their homesteads, fenced and open land,
trackways and contours – all that’s happened here

I’m sorry for the screeching and swearing we winter swimmers do.

A decapitated road sign
Spears the yellow verge,

Meaningless as a symbol
Of progress. A vain strut.

I wrote a metaphor using eel
for blue-light reflections in water
on a flooded motorway

Because I don’t know any other way

I replace my left hand
with a hook, my feet
with jackhammers, both
my eyes with spangled
mirror balls.

Some Things My Mother Forgot to Teach Me (Before She Died)

A while ago I saw this prompt on Instagram
though I added ‘before she died’
because mine did—long before
anyway, I made a list