Wall of Honour
Frances Corkey Thompson
Like boulders rolled at random,
each at her own measured distance,
my sheep settle for the night, dimly earthed.
Headlights bleach the nearest ewe to brilliance.
She scrambles, shining, to her pins, and I
am a statue at her gates.
We who know birthing and nursing, limping,
losses, are trapped in the antique, silent protocol
of mutual, mute stare, an equipoise.
A rushing piss claims her ground.
The beam shifts, car roars away. We hold on.
We are far from home tonight.
Frances Corkey Thompson won 3rd
Prize in the Sentinel Annual Poetry Competition 2014