Poem of the Month

Childhood Clips by Tina Baker

Hailstones stored in jars

next to broken glass cakes.

*

Handstands in the hallway,

blood pooling in her head,

feet as cold as ice.

*

Under the stairs, a starved meter

waiting in the dark.

*

Ghosts in the attic,

God and Father Christmas;

the glued-up locks,

her mother’s plan,

to stop them getting in.

*

The tunnel she dug and then filled in,

too tired to escape.

And all those nights in the garden,

reaching up.