Thursday, 19 April 2018

A poem by Hannah Linden

The Cape

Red is the colour of the weeping night – 
colour you can't see but can feel
on your tongue, feel it wrap itself
around your shoulders: all those nothings
wrapped into red somethings.

This poor child carries it as if it were a gift.
For all the longing in her eyes, I have no answers for her.
It is always luck. I can only sew wishes into stitches
and leave holes for her to find. These are my knots
and I tried to make them beautiful.

I am tired of knitting red at night. But what else
could I have done? She is a wolf-daughter
caught between forest and cottage. There
was never a path. There were only well-trodden
mistakes and seeds scattered to cover them up.

Based in Devon, Hannah Linden has been published online, in print magazine and anthologies. She was highly commended in the 2015 Prole Laureate Competition; and, with Gram Joel Davies, won the 2015 Cheltenham Poetry Festival Compound Poetry Competition. Over the last couple of years she has been putting together her first collection, Wolf Daughter, which explores the impact of parental suicide and this poem is part of that collection. Twitter:@hannahl1n

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