I'd like to wish a Happy Easter to all of you who celebrate this holiday – and to those who simply enjoy any holiday (or any excuse to eat chocolate). I'm hoping to have a day off myself, so instead of the usual update, I enclose two very different, somewhat-seasonal poems; one from our most recently published poet, Di Slaney, and the second from the first poet we ever published, Nigel Gerrans. I hope you enjoy them.
Jamie McGarry, VP Publisher
from Reward for Winter
A small white bird, waiting at the back,
weighing up her options. She might attempt
to wing it, puff out her orange chest, pre-empt
the strike of sharpened beaks, avert attack
from meaner hens of scornful, worn demeanour.
Or she may stay put, hope no one has seen her,
miss out again on corn and worms: stay thin,
keep wondering what to do to be let in.
Now it’s lying here, the palest shade
of arctic green, out of place between the
earthy brown and speckled cream. She laid
this one, no doubt that it’s hers. When
he comes back to clear the nest, he’ll
hold it up, then smile. Subtle, little hen.
from It Is I Who Speak: Selected Poems
This is my body, offered you,
A body, torn and racked with pain,
Calling you back to walk my way,
And know your finer selves again.
This is my life-blood harshly shed,
Drained to the last for care of you,
Calling you from the vain and false,
To claim the beautiful and true.
I had no other I could share,
There was no more that I could give,
Open your hands at my table here,
Come, that you may learn to live.
My feast shall fill you with my life,
My love shall hold you day by day,
You are to be my body now,
So dare to give yourselves away.