We knew the soldiers were coming
Hid in our beds, no one to protect us
Goods on the shelf waiting to be stolen
Before, that day, we had lessons
Cursed algebra, embraced Shakespeare
Explored China, played tag outside
Fell out, made up, ate lunch together
Made apple pie, but not custard
Remembered the gender of French nouns
Now we are herded, our worth in flesh
We learn knots we can’t untie
How to stay still and hope they do not come
We wait to be rescued, damsels
In distress, hair out for climbers
Life asleep in the stomach of a wolf
I wrote this poem during writers’ group I seem to remember, but first had the opportunity to read it out at the Ted Hughes Conference: Dreams as Deep as England in Sheffield in 2015 to an academic and literary audience.
At some point I hope to blog my essay on men, violence and Sylvia Plath, as I have found the original hand written submission, but until then, here’s my poem.
(c) Rebecca Deans 2015
Looking forward to reading more.