Kathryn Simmonds

Two Poems

Mud Room
The Grudge

Feed it first
with mustard spoons,
with care, avoiding
sudden and disarming light.

Sing, (you know its songs).
Gnnarr, it says.  Gnnaar.
Little thing, little thing.

A daytime moon
and still you’re there,
pink-eyed, the mustard spoons,

the tablespoons, while the grudgeless
dream bland dreams – and nights
of them – until

one evening? Afternoon?
(So many spoons),
you find it’s grown,

it’s strong enough
to bear you on its back
and ride you mightily
through this whole cold world.


Comments are closed.