Hannah LINDEN 
 TWO poems

HOW WE CROSSED THE OCEAN

You were the whale in whose belly
I hid. It was crazy, I know, to be
so far out at sea and being with you
was still a kind of drowning.

I knew your ribcage better than my own
but recognised the huge hollow beneath.
We were both pretending there was a way
out of this mess. Some higher power

like Love or Myth-making.
Really it was just my knife finding
its way through your blubber. You
gasping for air on the beach.

DISPERSAL

Stitchwort darns the holes in the hedge.
Lords-and-Ladies hide their poison
under the cover of green. They’ll redden
our hungry mouths later.

Listen to the forgotten people
homed outside your ken and tended
by strangers.

I collect their dandelion seeds
scatter them in my lawn.

A slow worm battles with a magpie
as loosened fluff drifts into another year.
I’m fighting forgetfulness and fear.

I send my children out to collect
bitter leaves, mix them
with peppery nasturtium flowers,
sweet olive oil from a grove
across the sea.

We’re all exotic and common.
Our future is as delicate
and feral as ground wasps,
our thread-waisted hearts
beating underground.