Lucy Ingram 72

Lucy Ingrams


silent low zone syncopate-slow in the blue
crouched round a rudder proboscis as though
punting in ooze –
I try ‘-ive’ words over your poise: ‘attentive’
‘investigative’ ‘sensitive’ (fairy unasked
at your name ceremony) … flip
vowels and see you’re a lover heart thrown
by thrift or oak flowers the smoke-drifting grasses

tilt-winged clasp-footed keeping due
distance you study a tuffet of campion while
your swarm flows beyond – spreading
quarter rests comma breaths that hover just
over the tender-split fresh
– maytime’s eclosion


she is lost, she is
walking out of the picture

When did it
happen, the slip,
exactly? She took
a turn there, a turn
here, like water’s
winding, through
the unvisited
wood and now
has dropped
into her scare-
scape: heels slowing
as the stretch
thins from home.

For sure, the birch
and beech boles
sheer straight up
still, arrows
to the wide air
and through a shale
of shadows jam-
shine lustres from
the brambles, pine-
cones breathe,
a Chicken of
the Woods looms
warm as torchlight –

yet this plunge
the wind comes
sometimes in
to stir, that’s calving
(unsigned) paths,
folds her into
blindness more
and more – clear
lie at every border
but inside here
is pure abstraction:
silences and time
in curves, the pulse-
tip leaves, densities
of dark multiply.

One flower,
flecks in
and out,
It wears
the feint
and shiver
of enchanter’s
and images
her dread – its
fraying deckle-

Lucy Ingrams has won the Manchester poetry prize and the Magma poetry competition. A pamphlet, Light-fall, is published by Flarestack Poets