Bread, potatoes, onions.
Do you remember the ramsons
in ragley wood?
The rain came down
and blessed them for us
you fell in the river
baptising yourself with laughter.
Eggs, milk, honey.
I struggled to suckle our newborn
yet you made me feel like a queen.
No, I still can’t bring them to my lips
the last fruit we picked
How do I reconcile your absence
from the groves,
your heat from my bed?
The brambles still prick
where they pierced your finger,
birds still call where we lay.
Sweet woodruff nests in my hair,
fieldfares sleep in my ears,
blankets of moss veil my eyes,
foxgloves grow out of my fingers.