Identity: Granny Olga
Identify a body (broken neck battered eye splintered knee ruptured lung cranial bleeding dehydration and cold feet):
You in a hospital room, becoming a bionic woman.
Identify your things: a golden Buddha rides a mountain of recycled envelopes (half-written poems on half- used letters) and Boxes: broken wooden beads, fragmented jewels; bedraggled string around a paper clip.
Your mind: a palace of echoing mantras, of scathing criticisms.
Your actions: a tear in a teacup. Clock strikes five: you read the radio times. The scale of low to high--a wide ‘hello’--a projection which engulfed me, hugged me across the space. A voice from home.
Others define you by my skeletal frame, slim like yours;
Hands like yours; ears like yours.
In my tentative steps to becoming a woman I can define you (you and I are feminists, artists, activists, writers).
I can define you in my mother’s smile, my father’s worry, my courage and my strength.
I visit your silver birch in the orchard
You are the wind in its branches:
© Isabelle Kenyon
Her website is flyonthewallpoetry.co.uk. An extended edition of her poetry anthology, This is not a Spectacle, is available at https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/aw/d/1979446431/ref=dbs_a_w_dp_1979446431.