Some bother in the field caused
the turf to be forgotten.
Well into the winter dark
the fire began to falter.
My mother’s aunt went out
into the wild night for turf.
When she was slow returning
they said she was having a pee.
Dogsbark in the storm mixed
with other animal sounds.
Her dishevelled hair and rain
like tears on her face went unnoticed.
And when pregnancy was clear
no one could track that far back.
Some school friend told my mother
that her aunt had a baby.
Who the father was or what
happened to it was never said.
She bore her neighbours’ spleen
for generations, like a hump.