Past Walden Pond
I go to the woods. Always
Distant bubbles of thunder
move through the sky’s gut.
Homely amongst foxgloves,
mud thickens its welcome.
There won’t be birdsong
at this hour, chests puffed
to keep out water.
It takes a raindrop two minutes
to fall out of the sky,
less than two seconds to slip
down the runnel of my spine.
This place opens
a different curtain every time.
I cannot tell the pines apart, so maybe
when I look away
they switch places and snicker,
trying their best
to stay straight-faced.
Scent of brown leaves,
the softest acceptance
that anything might die here.
Marianne MacRae recently completed
a PhD in Creative Writing at The
University of Edinburgh, researching
the connections between animal and
spiritual otherness in poetry. In 2017/18,
she was the poet-in-residence at the Royal
College of Physicians and Surgeons of
Glasgow, researching the life and work of
Victorian surgeon, Joseph Lister. Her
pamphlet, ‘Joseph Lister is My New
Flatmate’ is available from the author
on request. Marianne’s work has
previously appeared in Magma, Gutter,
Ambit and the Edinburgh Review.