The Earth
is not even fond of us

or the Goddess
or the bees or
the glowing children.

Only dogs
entertain a tolerance
for us –

we earned it
over time, blackmail
of bones and treats,

but some dogs
want to bite, recalling, howl,
they were once wolves.

And the bees
vibrate with rage over
the flower business

And the Goddess says,
“flood after flood, they might guess
we’re sending a message”

And Earth,
usually so patient, sighs
a hurricane

And the soft spot is
a sinkhole vast as Luton-
There’s no time for us.



Sarah Davies was brought up in Merseyside and still misses the sea, living now in the most landlocked county in England. When not writing, she teaches, tries to play music and dreams of travelling. She has been published in various magazines and is working on a pamphlet.