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  An extended edition of her  poetry anthology, This is not a Spectacle, is available at