to Elsie de Baron
We make noise and walk through the swampy meadow
on high heels
fearful of mosquito bites and paper judgments
with us the country sounds like a soda requiem
foreign English soil growing-growing an invisible desert
which means, finally, acceptance.
The children can stone-it-stab-it with arrows.
It bleeds, it sobs on my shoulder.
Together we reach solidity.
‘Come to mummy’ I say arranging her cap,
‘have a lollipop’.
Another week gone, another month passes.
A bruise on my back, map for water landscapes.
The wall keeps following me. Surrendered.
Collage Rupert Loydell