Wendy Pratt – three poems

Now the Wolf is in the Cul-de-sac

it’s come down with the dusk, left
a vast geometry of pines, thin lines
of Christmas trees, sheep hemmed
into the grey-black fields. It’s worked
its way along the red brick walls,
PVC doors, nudged wind chimes
with its nose, paced the patios
and blanched itself to white in each
security light. You watch it coming,
hands, like X-rays on the glass,
your face as undone
as an etch-a-sketch, and all
that keeps the wolf away is light.

So each house lights its windows;
kitchens bitten into squares,
bathrooms petalled-finger-prints
of oblique head shots over sinks.
The wolf leans up against
your letter box and presses
forward with the wind and while
the dog whines from the sofa,
wolf knows neither sit nor stay.


The Art of Breaking Glass

There is an art to breaking glass,
a skill in all the panes I’ve smashed.

There is a skill to snapping stems,
an art to chipping off the ends

of ornaments; Murano fish
a skill within the crackled dish.

There’s skill in scattering the bits
a thrill in V shaped, finger nicks.

And every time I fall through one
I can’t resist the siren’s song.

I’ve fallen straight through full sized doors
I’ve stamped my feet on thick glass floors

I’ve ground my heal on sea glass pieces
picked from crevices on beaches,

picked up broken bottle necks
and pressed them up against flesh.

I even have a box at home
containing fibreglass, like foam.

I fell through my first pane in a faint,
head bowed divinely, like a saint,

I never felt the slightest pain,
so I performed the act again

and I’ve been falling ever since
to somehow prove that I exist.


Two Week Wait

Love turned the dial up
and watched us burn in its gas
light. Love caught us like frogspawn
and cupped us in the light of a duck
egg blue day. Love breathed and whistled
and lifted our faces and touched
us gently as truth must do, and ran us
through like soap suds on washing day.
Like clean sheets on the line we were lifted,
the breeze let us breathe. Love was needles
and charts and scans, love was clinic visits
and operations, love riddled us with drugs,
love shook us with hope, love gave us you,
love lost us both, love lost us all.


Wendy Pratt lives and works in North Yorkshire. Her first pamphlet and her first full sized collection were published by Prolebooks, her latest pamphlet, Lapstrake, is published by Flarestack Poets. She is currently undertaking an MA with Manchester MMU and a PhD with Hull. Her work has been published in many magazines, journals and anthologies. She won both the Prole Laureate and the York mix competition in 2015 and her poem Amazing Grace was highly commended and appeared in the Forward Anthology in 2015.
Blog: wendyprattpoetry

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One thought on “Wendy Pratt – three poems

  1. Robert Nisbet February 8, 2016 / 9:07 am

    I really enjoyed these, Wendy. I thought “Now the Wolf ..” was particularly fine.

    Like

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