Self-Portrait as a Last Meal Me in this found world. Mother and father, horned, pronged, point due north, guards of white meat on a grey plate. Lone glass, all mouth is not my sister. Here murderers wait to eat the clot-dark looming thing I am with its one eye that hides in plain sight, stares … Continue reading Two poems by Pippa Little
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‘Solstice’ by Pippa Little
The shortest day: dusk falls like a stone to earth. Yellow, with greenness of lemons in it. Carpet of snow the long night, a lopped pelt, dog or wolf. Yet, light in unexpected places. “I have come through.” My house, a traveller returned, baring the small, lit window of its heart. In-gathering of … Continue reading ‘Solstice’ by Pippa Little
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