Three Pieces

Jennie Howitt

Jennie went up to Cloudland

& having tethered 

her wrist to a balloon

lost need for feet     for floor:

there are no feet in Cloudland

Jennie flew up with a balloon 

& went up to Cloudland

with one big hand & one big push

her feet were uprooted & up she went

Cloudland is bordered only with peripheries

look at the heather        the wisps of heather – 

Jennie      don’t forget the heather    

when you go up to Cloudland

it was a thought. & it was not. 

don’t leave her in the heather

Jennie      don’t forget the heather 

when you go up to Cloudland

Jennie spreads out with heather 

that pulls down to dirt 

so when the floor gave out

Jennie went up to Cloudland 

there was never a floor but there was a hand 

& a palm with remnants of heather

& a hold that went & a hold that went

when Jennie went up to Cloudland

there was never a hand but there was a hold – 

the string of a balloon

was found in the heather  

Jennie      don’t forget the heather 

don’t bury me here, says her mother,

don’t bury me here in the heather,

& Jennie is writhing & reeling – a worm!

a worm that went up to Cloudland 

I’m going up to Cloudland, says Jennie,

I give up my excuses – I give up!

a man has my feet! a man has my feet!

I have nowhere to go                     –

swan catching ritual

tell a swan to stay put 

then watch her rush to a river

listen to her wings 

sputter against the water

call out her name

                  ‘miss swan’

& watch her surge further away

than fingers can sink into skin

have a picnic on the mudflat

& call her over for tea

bring plenty of reeds

to bind feet to your mat

send the swan letters – 

not to the canal – 

to somewhere else 

                             in the ether

if there is no response

           –fret not – 

write back on her behalf

& read it to yourself

then at the first chance you get

wring her long neck

feathers soft in tight hands

keep eyes squeezed shut

preserve the swan as glass

& hold the stillness each night 

flatten her to window

so light casts her on your bed

don’t be surprised 

to look out your boat

& see her swanning 

in the melts of sun

her white feather coat

is no longer locked up – 

it glimmers on the water – 

she’s gone                       –

foxglove

is a spinal cord      inhaling

is a chest stretching open      inhaling

is a stack of little lungs      inhaling

is gasping with a stinger      inhaling

is tinged pink as a mistake      inhaling

is a lodging unplucking      inhaling

is placed every three paces      inhaling

is unmoved by the wind sway      inhaling

voice caught      inhaling 

soundless      inhaling