BY ANTHONY WILSON
I ease the mower
beneath blackberry stems
and think instead of my mother
who has just called me Angus
Stooping to pick a few of the immense dark
planets I try not to think
of my mother already losing
the word for blackberries
who picked blackberries as a child
and took them home to her mother
who knows blackberries
in three languages
each planet of thought
soft between my thumbs
Trying not to think
of my mother I think of grass
AERODROME 