the saturday poem: the elms /

Published at 2016-03-19 09:02:03

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By Alison BrackenburyWe may know the trees but rarely wood.
Elm was the workhorse,daily tree,[br]pale handle, and for your fork and spade,
a chair as low as a bent knee
nick d
own for each uneven floor.
Women leaned into i
ts curved back
as the milk pulsed, as birds once pressed
its crowded l
eaf, or before storm’s black.
The elms died fast,of one d
isease.
Is that a sapling, in the hedge?[br]No, and hazel with its rose-flushed buds
then young lime with its heart-shaped edge.[br]Its step-grandchild must be the ash,
sprung on street corners, on stone hills, o
r
until the lightning cracks the wind,
the crest is split, the fine twig spills.
Conti
nue reading...

Source: theguardian.com

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