Child The field has drowned and turned into a tideless sea.             Flower shapes rise from             a toddler’s broken ribs. Beyond the head of a loch a broken swing hangs from a tree.             His body bruises in the dark,             he has learned to be quiet. Clouds drag their shadows over hills, ridges, fields of sheep.             His eyes are the colour of fists,             he has learned … Continue reading ‘Child’ by Marion McCready