This poem is taken from PN Review 147, Volume 29 Number 1, September - October 2002.
The Wemyss School of Needlework1. Patterns
The castle has turned its back,
closed on itself, a cold
stone bud with roots in coal.
In the lodge, miners' daughters
wore scalloped aprons, sleeve-protectors.
Hands were scrubbed, hands
at all times were to be clean.
They shook cloth on to trestles,
laying swathes of paper, stamped
with pomegranates, thistles;
hearing, perhaps,
as fingers smoothed out creases,
the faintest whisper of
fleur-de-lys; a dead
queen's handwork
...
The page you have requested is restricted to subscribers only. Please enter your username and password and click on 'Continue'.
If you have forgotten your username and password, please enter the email address you used when you joined. Your login details will then be emailed to the address specified.
If you are not a subscriber and would like to enjoy the 285 issues containing over 11,500 poems, articles, reports, interviews and reviews, why not subscribe to the website today?
If you have forgotten your username and password, please enter the email address you used when you joined. Your login details will then be emailed to the address specified.
If you are not a subscriber and would like to enjoy the 285 issues containing over 11,500 poems, articles, reports, interviews and reviews, why not subscribe to the website today?
