in response to bracken
how it scents the hillside
like medicine and rain
how its ancient symmetry
divides me leaf-tips melting
to arrowhead how it closed
off the sky those Sundays
Dad took us to the heathlands
how little time there was
before coming ready or not
how I slid the crag curled
myself to fiddlehead my heart
the heart of a small animal
each second a brown spore
on a spiralling leaf steady
tick tick of wet foliage
how the dog crashed through
undergrowth licked the green
light from my skin pawed up
networks of rhizome
stem after stem the earth
suddenly electric wiring itself
with memory how much I still
want don’t want to be found
Victoria Gatehouse is a scientist, award-winning poet and children’s writer. Read more.