THE FROGMORE POETRY PRIZE 2015

Julie Mellor

WOODCOCK

Settled in my shadow and shy of it I nest in fear in heather the crackling
noise it makes like fire my heart cold as a pebble these lungs no bigger
and my stiletto beak fetching at grubs holding myself in camouflage so
cryptic I lose sight of what it’s about this life like peat burning unseen
years below ground see me putting up a display like no tomorrow there
are no tomorrows oh to be king of all this dark as if someone had passed
a coin over the sun I’m dying out of my own story snatched at for pin
feathers finer than sable and such meat as I have roast to a pile of bones
my skull split along my beak to sip sip sip my brains from my halved
head oh I’m loved dead I will go back to my mystery spend my summers
up there on the moon.


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