against the cutting wind, the
ruthless rain outside, I press
a steaming mug against my cheek,
sit to watch the bushes dance
their frenzied dance. Six sheep
huddle in the lee of an old
stone wall – through misted lenses
I make out their muffled contours
dull with mud. News of war bursts
from the radio, it sluices
over, round and into me. The sheep
will wait, as they have learned to wait,
for this north-westerly to pass,
for all this to be over. Sounds of
bomb blasts rock my sheltered study,
sirens whine. My cheek is cold,
my tea untouched. The lenses of
my glasses much too clear.
Geraldine Mitchell has published four collections of poetry. Her most recent collection is Mute/Unmute (Arlen House, 2020). She was recently placed second in the Troubadour International Poetry Prize
