The circling

​Down where the devil’s bit nods
its lilac head in the grass,
and the cuckoo flower comes in spring,
Near the shimmering birch trees, 
every year, a single red toadstool sprouts.

White spotted, nibbled as the autumn days go on--
perhaps the creatures see in tongues, and dance
a tripping dance under the Harvest Moon.

One year,up the brae and over the burn, 
we find another flash of red in the undergrowth,
and a far flung other, and look in wonder--
at the fairy-ring cast, wide and far, 
round the whole of the vast wood.

Growing stronger

​Wipe your face clean while you look in the mirror,
Don’t skewer your own eyes by looking inside.
Count on silent fingers those who will miss you, 
Do not weep if this takes no fingers at all.

Dress how you will for this long-breath journey,
Put your out of office message on—make it vague and cheery.
Take only what you can carry on your person,
Leave your phone and your keys in the dry, hiding place.

Go to the source you found or which finds you,
The place that the roe deer tells you is safe.
Drag the old rowan branch in a circle around you,
Squat and piss in instalments round your new home’s border.

Sit—if you can—in this circle of your own making,
Stroke your fingers through the living earth’s crust carpet.
Let butterflies and ants walk on your bruised skin,
Wait for the bracken to grow up through your hair.

Rest your heart on a sun warmed stone—watch while it cools,
With the passing of seasons the rowan berries will fall and root there.
Snap your tongue at covetous magpies, bare your teeth at passing foxes,
Guard this heart-tree sapling of yours until it is stronger.

---

F. E. Clark lives in Scotland. She writes, paints and takes photographs—taking inspiration from nature in all its forms. A Pushcart, Best of the Net, and Best Small Fictions nominee, her poetry, flash-fiction, and short stories can be found in anthologies and literary magazines. 

Website: www.feclarkart.com  | Twitter: @feclarkart