This week's poem taken from a recent collection is from Anna Lewis's pamphlet published in July, The Blue Cell, a sequence of poems exploring the lives of a number of early medieval Welsh saints. Melangell, who fled from Ireland to Powys to escape an unwanted marriage here shelters a hare from hunters. Hares are a rarer sight than they were but they are still seen occasionally, and we sometimes see them near to the home of Rack Press in Powys.
The Blue Cell can be ordered here for immediate dispatch, £5 post-free.
MelangellIts heart was quick against her thigh,then slowed. She felt the hitching rhythmof its ribs subside, kept her own breathas she heard the dogs pant close,their narrow bodies slit the bracken.Birds swung up from the slopeand marked the line of their approach;the saplings shook, then from the treespoured horses, men in red and gold.And it was the same as the dayshe first stepped onto the sea,handed herself to the wavesand to the will of God: brash sunlightthrown back, the green earthtipping under her feet. Not so muchbravery, not so much faithas a small, dull light that scratchedinto life in her chest, then grewuntil she could not see around its edge.Beyond, there was quiet. The haredropped its head to its paws, and slept.