Mother Tongue – Adele Evershed

Mother Tongue

The rhythm of the rain beats in her hips / and her bedgown ripples like a lake maiden’s song  / the tang of something fresh from the sea between her legs / ewes run along the crest of her / ramming a tied ligature around your heart / and there it is / the ancient pull  
It laps at the edges of now in a minute / or chopses in the oil and froth / waiting to evolve in a big gulp / of ych a fi / damn oh dee / when you cross the bridge / or when you’re called lovely / that first time in a long time  
sweat and tears and waves / all taste the same / so the sensation when you lick her / is as elemental as the tilt of hearing your poem / read in Welsh by another voice /and it tips you back home again / dim ond hyn / just this 

Adele Evershed