But Lancelot mused a little space;
He said, “She has a lovely face…”
Take me don’t take me
to the river for her wet cloak
I am lustful I am deadcold
for that greened boat
Be high colour be the shadows
in the mirror
In this cloak men throw their cloaks
across the water
O lover to be my lover
soak up the river
You may need to need the warm cloaks
of my sisters
So the banks
hold dark wet carmine dark wet lapis
And where and wearing whose
should we be happiest
Your yellow hair
‘For Anne Gregory’/ ‘Goblin Market’
Great and golden at your ears!
One curl fresh on its mother-twig
sends the young men into sweet despair.
You know the texts – they all declare
that mornings pass. So skurry, dew-maid,
fill your mouth while fruit is there.
The weather always cools, my dear.
Soon your curls are emptied rinds
and only God could want your skull.
Rachel Piercey is a poet, editor and tutor for adults and children. Her third pamphlet, Disappointing Alice, was recently published by HappenStance; she also has two pamphlets with the Emma Press. Rachel’s poems have appeared in magazines including The Rialto, The Interpreter’s House, Butcher's Dog, Magma and The Poetry Review. rachelpierceypoet.com