Leonie Rushforth
'Bearings'
‘and for your sake
Am I this patient log-man.’
The Tempest
Log-woman that is, carrying the damp wood
In from the cold, quiet February garden,
Feeling the wind bite. It’s been long months
Since I was here and you have changed. I see
This – or sense it, for you are treating me
With care – in the difference at the door
As I arrive. How gathered and harboured
I have always been by you, and now
I see or sense you gather in yourself,
Forbearing in the current pulling us
Together as it always has. I know
I am cut loose, adrift. You cook a stew
We eat beside the fire that’s eating logs
As fast as I can bring them in it seems.
The cats unfold themselves to sniff my scarf,
As a stranger’s scent, and it’s true, I’m stranger
Here than I knew, and, darling, you are kinder
Than the wind outside, and more remote beside
Your fire than winter planets looking on
As I discover there’s nothing I can do
But bring more logs before I go, and so I do.