A graduate of St Andrews and University of Wales Aberystwyth, Anne Welsh lives in
Essex and works in London. Her poems have appeared in a variety of online and print journals, including
Agenda Broadsheet, nthposition and hagsharlotsheroines.com.
I see the white spider on the black door.
She weaves a web that illustrates my dreams:
my native shore under fresh pewter skies;
candle-lit dancing in chiffon like sun;
the iron rust blood that marked childhood's end.
I am the Lady with the Unicorn,
senses spilling forth on carmillion ground.
The mille des fleur form an indigo choir,
awaken me to Canterbury bells.
I see the white spider on the black door,
leave the web unbroken, turn the key and
cross the threshold of my home dream-shrouded.
You have told of your wilderness journey
and I believe you.
Yet, your departure
leaves this place to ice - land so alien
I drift above it like the tundra wind,
seeking only earth.
To desert people
Aaron spoke the Word but was not Moses;
saw the burning bush and was not consumed.
Ice cannot harm me;
nor can it sustain,
for I am only wind, carry but words.
Memory of fields under ultra-violet,
your imperfections freed from light,
battle-scars from larger objects
that really do belong in the sea.
Worn smooth by the storm-bloodied oceans,
I found you, defenceless, save
that life-held threat of shattering,
drowning out the breakers that brought you to me,
sea-salted, man-scented chink of glass,
like Grandmotherís eyes after tears.
copyright © Anne Welsh