Grandmothers

When the grandmothers were let out of prison
they began to darn
for now only the rich could afford new clothes
and everyone else was ragged
or sharing, or buying black market.

The grandmothers darned. They mended cuffs
and necks and elbows. Stitched up holes in pockets.
All winter, they mended even
the fairytales of snow, yes, the snow
that came before the time of rain.

The grandmothers threaded their needles and
told folktales to the children.  How you steered
your sledge with your boots, behind you.

The grandmothers snipped their threads and
the children opened their mouths in wonder,
imagining snowflakes falling on their tongues

how cold each one was, and then gone.

Jean Atkin

High Nowhere ‘I dare you to finish reading this book and emerge indifferent to the role of humans in the plight of the Earth. That’s the mark of Atkin’s success.’                                                                Matthew Stewart, reviewing on Rogue Strands, 2024. Jean Atkin’s Laurel Prize nominated third full collection is about the lives we live now on the edge of climate disaster, in vivid, accessible poems that engage with weather and disappearance, place and energy – and also joy. Her invented ‘High Nowhere’ is an imaginary placename, a marker for what’s at stake. At the core of the book is a journey made in Iceland during the Covid years. High Nowhere also includes Atkin’s own black and white photographs.

Published by Indigo Dreams, and available from Amazon.

If you have any thoughts about this poem or this publication, Jean Atkin  would be pleased to hear them