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one of 50 poems originally commissioned as a

poster poem for Poems For the Waiting Room,  Hyphen-21


To make her magic


It was strangely hot,

the ash tree gasped in dust

as we approached,

dark-bud twigs cracking the sky.


All my life a Luddite

but glad to wait beside you in that roomó

Pacific blue,

antechamber to miracles.


Your grandparents put trust in herbs.

I made ritual,

sent healing energies,

secretly enjoyed being called witch


and this sense of filaments stretched

like Indra's Web from life to life.

The embryologist

would make her magic next.


This morning I wait alone, dry-lipped,

the telephone a magnet.

I have touched this child, know she exists.

Creature on the edge of skin.


Joan Poulson


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 Joan Poulson photo

e-mail Joan
Joan Poulson website

poetry favourites:
poetry magazines
Poetry Trust

and in the shop ...
books & pamphlets:
"onetree singing",
Blackthorn Books;

"Dear Ms",
children's novel,
A&C Black;

"Pictures in My Mind",
full poetry collection for children,
Hodder Wayland;


"Sling a Jammy Doughnut" (ed), picture-book poetry anthology,
Hodder Wayland;

"The Land Songs", joint pamphlet,

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