This poem is taken from Stand 230, 19(2) June - August 2021.
Two Poems
Ash, April 2020
It’s months since the felling. The woods have become historic,
a battlefield site, reshaped and scabbed after carnage.
Every year in April, an outward billow of blackthorn
astonishes in swirls of snow, except this year.
...
It’s months since the felling. The woods have become historic,
a battlefield site, reshaped and scabbed after carnage.
Every year in April, an outward billow of blackthorn
astonishes in swirls of snow, except this year.
...
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