Largely due to curiosity, and licking,
cattle are poisoned the most.
Lead paint; abandoned batteries
from tractors are salty, oily, palatable.
How’s a farmer to find a battery leaking
in the green blades of his field, when a cow,
head down tells no one of her find;
when her calf, rib high, first learns to lick
the red from a disused digger mouth?
Here’s a mother who does not know
she’s killed her young, had fed them lead
spiked milk. Had head in crankcase oil,
stomach lined; days on, foams at mouth,
staggers in the paddock. All once pastoral
now black. Surely, soon we’ll learn there’s
poison in everything, even our brightest finds
Amy Louise Wyatt is a poet, lecturer and artist from Bangor, N.I. She has had work published in journals such as The Honest Ulsterman, Boyne Berries, FourxFour and Dodging the Rain. Amy has read her poetry on The BBC Arts Show, at University of Ulster’s Riverside Readings and at several festivals. She is the editor of The Bangor Literary Journal and was shortlisted for the Seamus Heaney Award for New Writing 2018.
/ homeless — please help /
as if he spoke for every man in every street in every town
his bag: chrysalis
in the cold he turned to creature that he longed to be
winged — flew free — city full of ants
so busy with their jobs they failed to see that they were carrying
and he was light and free to fly
small things — we are all small things
Amy Louise Wyatt is a writer, lecturer and artist from Bangor, N.I. She has had work published in a range of literary journals and magazines such as The Honest Ulsterman, FourxFour, Dodging the Rain and Cold Coffee Stand. Amy has most recently read her poetry on The BBC Arts Show, at University of Ulster’s Riverside Readings and at festivals throughout Ireland . She is the editor of The Bangor Literary Journal and was shortlisted for the Seamus Heaney Award for New Writing 2018. amylouisewyatt.com
Some people cannot speak about their wounds
for very thought of blood will turn them red.
They like fresh wrapped bandage; clean bleached
sheets; starched towels; crisp new handkerchief.
They know why we’re first washed clean:
untraced womb; maternal plasma; amniotic sap.
Women-made women: women full of wombs
expel whatever they have chosen to expel.
Yet, some can’t speak about their wounds.
Ones in shock of fresh-flecked cloth, stoop, bow
and call out not again. Women, who the very
thought of blood will turn them deathly grey.
Amy Louise Wyatt is a lecturer, poet and artist from Bangor, N.I. She is the editor of The Bangor Literary Journal. Amy has been published in The Blue Nib, CAP Anthology, Lagan Online andFourXFour. She was a finalist in the 2016 National Funeral Services Poetry Competition and the 2017 Aspects Festival Poetry Slam and shortlisted for The Seamus Heaney Award for New Writing 2018. Amy is a member of Women Aloud NI. She is based at The Blackberry Path Studios and is working towards her first poetry collection.