by Fergus Cullen
Ephrata
On a quickly-
cobbled bed
in a fodder-
perfumed shed
by the bad road
out of town,
under star-
swollen sky
and an old ewe’s
knowing eye,
lies a Gali-
lean maiden,
her unready
body laden
with an absent
father’s son.
Rorate
A belly swells. Its freckles spread and widen.
A mud-brown puffball blown beneath a hedgerow
for some weeks nudged by passing sticks and dogs’
inquiring noses ruptures on the quiet.
Press cheek to hill or belly. Feel legs kick
greave-fit, arms barge as if shield-bearing.
Press eye to sagging sky. Its waters brink
on breaking, drop to tap an upturned nose.
Wide eyes reflected in a bulging drop
reflect the drop that bulges on the thorn.
Drop down! Unzip the hill along the hedgerow
to pull out sleeping soldiers by the handful!
Fergus Cullen is an apprentice historian and occasional writer of prose and verse. He lives south of the river. He blogs at https://x.com/FairGoose and https://ferguscullen.blogspot.com/.
The Borough 