The Long Woman For years there is this walking woman, walking, walking, hooded, boots white with chalk. Along the sides of busy A roads, drivers clock her: one beat, one black blink. We would never taunt her. And then one day she’s gone. Back in that room with thin curtains, a baby bulges, forces passage; taps her milk with short sharp beak; grows stick legs, a jagged mop of hair, wide shiny eyes; is off to school. And back and forth she walks and walks, hooded, upright. And every day she crosses at the same place, drops down a twitten. Seagulls scream and twist, metal sea rises. On she walks: her child needs her. Charlotte Gann

If you have any comments on this poem, Charlotte Gann would be pleased to hear them