I dreaded us losing 

our Gruffalo dad,

an army of hands and feet

the strict skin of him towering,

so hard to kiss.

Now softened to this heap in a hospital bed

he lets me warm-oil-massage 

his giant hands 

pleads 

sing me to sleep

slowly

​

https://www.1handclapping.online/post/jane-campbell-a-poem

aka Beneath

 

Angry older girls

rulers of St Mary’s school

mob me in a cubicle

pressure me for proof

of playground claims

that my first period

despite my youth

had already come

my pants are dragged down

as I’m forced centre of a sorry stage

recasting them

in perpetuity

slow for their age

https://www.bloodyamazing.co.uk/the-anthology

Village women visited me

every rain or shine day

tucked long skirts up against mudding

leaned in deep to suckle my flow

like lovers we face-gazed

sometimes the only mirror they would know

I listened to every mother’s tale

played favourites in the public spats

then cooled ankles to reduce swell

befriended their bag of thirsts

as they banked on me

demanded I determine destinies

not enough simply

to dissolve mountains

lubricate land

they brought me a poor runty babe

or stumbled heavy down my earth steps

draped with an ailing parent

for whom they could not afford to care.

 

Local legend lore still allows

a night on my slate bed-slab

will conjure kill or cure

but I dread the cries of guttering despair

when wishes are whispered once again

into votive ribbons

tied into my hawthorn hair.

​