Sick-Bed

Abstract

Bird scarers Lie panting In the hedges with the birds, Rhiannon Fans herself with her apron Leading Myfanwy With tainted milk From eating tansy, Wild garlic and ivy, A noisy chicken Darts out of her cottage Following them After laying an egg On an open bible, The egg Reflected in tiny lenses Of spectacles; A lapwing In the sky Waits to be turned over Like the cheese. Women Carry corn in sacks For winnowing To the top Of Mynydd Bychan,1 Their hands As rough As Myfanwy's tongue Cropping The sheaf of hay In Rhiannon's arms, One Calling and calling For the wind, Her child Down the valley Answering.