Inspired by
We don’t need shoals of angels,
shadows darting fish on witless walls,
finning out to net the laden, trawl
them freshly gilled like fingerlings,
innocent as spawn. Give us bright birds
promising plump appled days, drunk
on sky. Sap-singing ambles of trees,
a coax of buttocky hills. And those slipping
hands of lovers, butter-cupped fields of them.
Mary is a translator from Devon, living in France for many years. She won the 2015 Wenlock Prize, has been short listed several times for the Bridport, commended in the Caterpillar and Teignmouth Prize, and published in Prole, Antiphon, Snakeskin, Grievous Angel, Clear Poetry, Emma Press, among others. She is working towards her first collection.
