Lenni
She had no truck with softies –
you swam the river. Or not.
And, if not, endured
her silent scorn.
You went to the forest,
for bilberries. Or not.
Mosquitoes? Pah!
Lenni had no time for them.
Nor they for her – but you,
that was different.
When your bitten ankle
swelled and swelled
Lenni lathered it
with lead-water, didn’t care
if lead were poisonous
or not.
She brought you
to the deepest, coldest lake
and when you wouldn’t jump
she pushed you in.
Ah, Lenni, Lenni,
carving the cold lake water
with her long, strong arms,
marching to the forest
baskets swinging from her hands –
You coming? No? Pah!
And Pah! again.
Gill lives in Devon; member of the Totnes Company of Poets; Hawthornden Fellow; winner of the 2015 Michael Marks Award for “The First Telling” Happenstance Press.