Siren Song of My Mother

The siren song of my mother calls me;
her long notes pierce the unfocused night.
I am weighted, but pulled towards the sea.
Slices of waves jewelled under lunar light
shine, before clouds shroud her as I begin to swim.
Riding the waves the music brings calm;
I want to sit with her, limb touching limb,
as sea salt stiffens the hairs on my arms.

Separated by birth and then by time
I need her to encircle my whole being:
I want to know that I was hers and she was mine.
Yet the song that she keeps on singing
is all melody and vowels now, no words.
I see only sharp shadow rocks, not her.

Hare Mother

Last year’s snow
turned your hair pure white.

A winter of wild words:
bitch, trapped, wasted.

His sharp preying eyes had you hiding,
almost glad when he…