top of page

2 poems by Fiona Cartwright


Two hundred metres away, he stops

dead on the hill, his feet deep

in grass unpunctuated

by the tree seedlings he ripped out

the moment they emerged.

She stands upwind with a shotgun.

She grallochs the deer,

leaving his guts in the thin soil

he’s stripped of green. Later

she cuts off his penis, emerges

from the butcher room

aproned and smeared,

holding his herbivore head

as outside, uneaten,

the blaeberry shoots sprout.

Gralloch – to remove the intestines of a shot deer

Owning light

Sierra Leone

The fireflies carry

their own glows in their bellies,

hanging their net of lights

like laundry across the bushes,

pulsars flickering

on and off in the dark

they translate luciferase and ATP

into a conversation

silenced everywhere else

by a cacophony of streetlamps.


Fiona Cartwright is a poet and conservation scientist living near London. Her poems have appeared in various journals and magazines, including Magma, Mslexia, Under the Radar, Interpreter’s House and Ink, Sweat and Tears. Her debut pamphlet, Whalelight, was published by Dempsey and Windle in 2019.


bottom of page