This is the last article you can read this month
You can read more article this month
You can read more articles this month
Sorry your limit is up for this month
Reset on:
Please help support the Morning Star by subscribing here
Stolen at No. 59
Beth McDonough
I sneck his garden gate, check twice – hide
behind his walls to steal. The second time
this year. I whisper past his dry of pots, duck
beneath his kitchen sills, although I know
he’s nowhere near. I pull out pinks of fleshy stems –
I’m stealing Ronnie’s rhubarb, witnessed just
by next door’s hedge, alive, athrum with birds.
Sheltered by his sunwarm walls, I sense
a million unseen beaks which texture sharp
the skies, all underscored in trees with deeps
of throated pigeon tones. Two New Years ago,
I gave one minute of my day to hear the birds, to
focus, clear, reclaim that joy, however shot
the night before, however shite this life. I do.
It’s me and birds for now.
Ronnie mostly lives in Monaco, and yes, he knows
I come. He likes my jam, but does not know
how much I steal.
Beth McDonough lives in Dundee, having initially trained at Glasgow School of Art. Her poems are often inspired whilst foraging and swimming in the Tay.
Well Versed is edited by Jody Porter.
Connect with Well Versed on Facebook and Twitter.
