choosing a book of poetry from my shelves - this egg yolk coloured book 'Sundowner' by Phoebe Hesketh sticks out, just behind a pebble with googly eyes stuck on & a small white one that I drew a picture of a girl holding an ice cream on (for my daughter Pheobe)....this small moment of memory & warmth is poetry in itself....


She was round and warm and brown,
homely and soft as a fresh cob loaf.
She nestled you to comfort
from stings of nettles, thistles,
and wasp-thin tongues.
One could feel her
feathering her eggs, folding them
under her breast,
shuffling her wings
till all were safely gathered.

Her warmth of welcome shone
across a field;
you came to her out of the rain;
the wind lay down when she was near.
Sorrow that dropped from you
was dried, and laughter shook
easily as ears of corn.

I never heard her sing;
her song was herself.


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