A few weeks ago Anne E. Edwards read a series of poems called The Gift at one of our meeting. Today she asked me to share the poems on here. Anne wrote these poems while she was away at a writing retreat in Kippford with Alistair Paterson. If you’d like to read more of Anne’s writing than check out her author’s page.
sour apples from the tree
saved from the compost
tenderly taken by horses
blunt teeth crunch
leather mouths mumble
not judging the gift
or the giver
is a half formed thing
has to be what
giver wants to give to
taker who has to want
giver to give them
Face stuck, pixalated, Skype technology
(whatever… that is new to me)
Google map obfuscated
Strength of mother-love bonding the mosaic to recognition
Altered. Darker? Hairier? Dirtier?
Tired eyes? Kholed?
Jewellery or tattoo?
Questions deflected. Questions, distracted answers. Questions hanging incomplete.
Animation, garrulous, giggles
Attention off screen
Genderless slim arm with beads hands a cigarette
Head shakes then takes the proffered,
wooden statue on a comical walk along the bottom of the screen
Picture freeze then return
Sensible, apologetic, penitent pleading,
infantile gaze when satiated with milk, that burp, that smile
Fierce I am like Nekbhet, I ruffle my feathers and protect my brood
Mocked and misunderstood I am reduced to an International money transfer
On this dark winters day I am the Northern Mole in Scotia, burying into my tartan blanket dipping shortbread in my tea