Ghost Bird
You the forest silent, deep
Tree wall chinked with moss
Me the ghost bird in the wind
And between us
Water like ice, like iron, like death
Water like drowning
Him the forest dark and cruel
Wolverine, viper, tooth and claw
Me the ghost bird broken-winged
And between us
Water like vinegar, venom and bile
Water like acid
Yours the shoot in morning mist
Reason to flee curse and boot
Me the ghost bird hovering soft
And between us
Water like tears, like fetal fluid
Water like birthing
Him the storm clouds
Us the rainbow
Us the stream, the river
Niagara, Livingstone, Inga
Water like hoping
Me the forest ancient, gnarled
Bent and twisted, strong at last
You the ghost bird testing branch
And between us
Water like broth, like footsoak, like blood
Water like bathing
Them the forest lush with bluebells
Giggles, rabbits, mice
Gone the ghost bird, clawed and beaked
All around them
Tadpoles, damsels, trout and minnows
Water like living
Heather D Haigh is a sight-impaired spoonie and emerging working-class writer and poet from Yorkshire. She has had poems published by Dark Winter Lit, Frazzled Lit, Anansi Archives, and others. When not writing or napping she can be found waving her camera around or making messes she optimistically calls arty.