MANDY PANNETT
Her snakes are enamel in moonlight, hot
and heavy as chains. They stir uneasily; hiss.
In her rosebud bower she twines love-knots
with ribbons as gifts for the child. Unnoticed
her husband faces the forest, plots how best
he can hurt his wife, take over and gain
control of the boy. They are both obsessed.
This is a poisonous wood – wolfsbane,
hemlock, a low-hanging moon in a pool
of frogs, pale-green and belly-up; dead.
The child sleeps on: as yet no unscrupulous
moonbeams disorder the curls on his head.
In sweet-briar dreams his world is kind –
later he’ll learn not only worms are blind.
Highly Commended poem, Build Africa Poetry Competition 2012
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