by Rose Flint
There are nights that pluck at me
like witch-fingers, blood-sisters
I walk restlessly round the room
drink too much, tease, scold, scorn
I may tear something apart – tarot cards or flowers
but my hands are capable of crushing steel and bone
These are the nights when the black wind
flicks stars through the trees like elf-shot
when the black wind glides under my eyelids
so I own night-sight, am cat on the tiles
These are the nights when women shapeshift
fly and alight on a whim like a succubus
naked breasts cold as water, their hair
curled into snakes or spiked raven wings
These are the nights when everything cages me:
your gentleness, our love, the spaces between us
These are the nights, these nights of black wind
when you are best absent, your door closed
while I stay alone with my mirror sisters
watching the wind, the wild moon in my hand.
Winner of numerous awards for poetry including the Cardiff International Poetry Competition, she has four collections. Her first was Blue Horse of Morning (Seren) followed by Firesigns (Poetry Salzburg) which uses the Wheel of the Year to frame poems that move through the brightness and potential of Imbolc, to the fire of Beltane and the thoughtfulness of Lammas into the ancestral places of Samhain, and beyond.
Nekyia (Stride) is an extended meditation on the changes that time makes to a a woman, to a marriage, to land. Taking the form of a quest the poems move through an inner, spiritual journey.
Mother of Pearl (PSAvalon) contains poems in praise of the Goddess, mothers and daughters, witches, healers - and always Grandmother Earth.