Thursday, 9 June 2016

A poem by Rachael Clyne

Toadsong  


I thought I’d left something on.
There was a sound at night
persistent as a metronome -
poop        poop        poop

She told us it was a tiny toad.
We traced it to the yard wall
behind a piece of board.

That night in Dordogne we shared
childhood tales of being Jews
in Belgium, France, England.

The silent undercurrents
sense of foreignness,
lost families, the gap
they leave in the sternum,
a myopathy that
paralyses the soul.

A hidden noise in the dark
that you can’t ignore
tapping its Morse code -
Juif   Juif   Juif

It will not be silenced
the song the toads make
calling to each other
through the dark
like a heartbeat.


Commended in 2013 Poetry Space & published in winner’s Pamphlet



Rachael Clyne's work appears in magazines, including: Domestic Cherry, The Interpreter’s House, Tears in the Fence. Also anthologies: The Very Best of 52, Book of Love and Loss, Poems for a Liminal Age, Three Drops for a Cauldron. Her prizewinning collection, Singing at the Bone Tree, concerns nature and our longing for the wild http://www.indigodreams.co.uk. Rachael's recent work focuses more on human nature.

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