Poem
Esther Morgan
FIELD
FIELD
FIELD
Time out of mind this evening –the hare crouched in her form,
the furrows’ sockets of flint.
A last dog’s whistled home
from ground that once
was called after someone;
an acre of average loss –
the common prayer of the wheat,
the rush hour as far away as the river
where that young girl went missing,
her night things tumbled over and over
in the treacherous weir.
That was before the war before last . . .
Boundaries of parish and family
dissolve in the hiss of this rain –
Lady’s Smock, Meadowsweet, Wild Angelica –
the old lace of their names
edging the dark.
© 2014, Esther Morgan
Esther Morgan
(United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, 1970)
Esther Morgan is the author of three books of poetry, of which the third, Grace, was shortlisted for the TS Eliot Prize in 2011. Her poetry is subtle, quiet, delicately paced. Concerned with absences, small moments, things we barely register, her poems creep back up on the reader with lingering resonances.
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Poems of Esther Morgan
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FIELD
Time out of mind this evening –the hare crouched in her form,
the furrows’ sockets of flint.
A last dog’s whistled home
from ground that once
was called after someone;
an acre of average loss –
the common prayer of the wheat,
the rush hour as far away as the river
where that young girl went missing,
her night things tumbled over and over
in the treacherous weir.
That was before the war before last . . .
Boundaries of parish and family
dissolve in the hiss of this rain –
Lady’s Smock, Meadowsweet, Wild Angelica –
the old lace of their names
edging the dark.
FIELD
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