The child herself dug round the
roots,
Unearthed this anomalous anemone
And brought it homewards as a
prize,
Still draped in maenad ivy.
Her return, shadowed by wolf
Achieved the air of unspoken triumph,
Though what Wolf whispered in her
ear,
As warning or encouragement
As she paraded homewards with her
spoils
I think only the family knows
Soup was the key on her return
Saucepan, kettle, early spring
and her
All simmering well.
wild garlic
sorrel
baby nettles,
new potatoes
and shallots
new cream,
sea salt
and dried rosemary and thyme
For them a feast,
though no one knew whose victory.
That night I dreamed she dreamed
And what I dreamed she dreamed
Was this.
Her anemone grew arms,
Unlatched her window,
Pointed hillwards
At the woods,
She got up
Fully dressed, equipped
As is the way of dreams
And , putting spyglass to her eye
Scanned the moonlit wooded edges.
Saw wolf dance about the rim
As if in wild obeisance
To some hidden presence
Deeper in the wood.,
Where it was, the moon’s shadow
Rising behind the house,
Seemed to point.
It called
She yearned
She woke.
An aunt, as is the case in such
circumstances
Confirmed the signs, first
period,
Puberty, all that, and ,being
kindly
Stayed a while to talk all through.
Found the new born woman
Twice or more
In night attire and sabots
On the woods’ edge
Asleep, but upright,
Leaning on new budding branches,
Murmuring wild happinesses
As if this were not enough
To shock our good soul
Ardent appeared both times
Seconds after her discovery
and said things like
“let the cub alone,
new time comes”,
before shaking himself all over
in a quite disgusting way,
then recovering himself
marvellously
before saying, perfectly vowelled
“ o bless her, Mrs Dallimore,
lets take the wee ‘un home”
Earnest watched with detachment
As sheep lambed twins
And calves and chicks
Came early and in rude health.
As old seed, thrown in the ground
As a last hostage against
starvation
Sprouted and brought forth good
greens,
And took, with no apparent affectation,
To walking their land,
With a pair of Hawks,
Aiding vigilance
The single anemone
is now a clump
And pots fill her window,
With climbers up the frame
A window into the green woods,
But not yet a door.
As moon waxes
Wolf still dances
Earnest’s hawks fly,
One ,with split purpose, watches
woods
And the other, from on high,
their sister
And the woods,
Apparently
Watch them all.
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