OUR LADY
You might, if you wanted, step from this window
onto the roof, walk across slates to other windows,
other rooms, or rest on the wooden chair
by the tub of camellias. The wind might be blowing leaves
across your stained boards, and always or sometimes
rain might shine on the panes and the distant trees.
She’ll be out in the city somewhere
but she’ll have left her scarf hanging on a hook.
A bird might pick from crumbs you’d thrown it
and beyond the houses the bells of Our Lady
might be summoning you into the clammy air.
PIETA
(along the road past Enna)
dry terraces
mountains beyond
the city built on a hilltop
sends messages to herdsmen
across gulleys and olive groves
dried gulleys slicing
the face of the mountains
rocks of thunder
cannon round the bus
heart dry
she holds her son
a long way off
a lightning charge
between them
sun sets into a white sky
behind the crags
she clings to
like a charm
Copyright © Janet Fisher 2003
Janet Fisher is co-director of The Poetry Business (Smith/Doorstop Books and The North magazine) in Huddersfield. She has had two full
collections published: Listening to Dancing, and Women Who Dye Their Hair. These are obtainable from The Poetry Business.
This poetry may not be archived or distributed further without
the author’s express permission. Please read the license.
This electronic version of Our Lady; Pieta is published
by The Richmond Review by arrangement with the author.
For rights information, contact The Richmond Review in the first instance
