Back to the Garden
The inauguration of the 46th President, 20th January 2021 I'd vowed to mark the day by dancing naked in the garden. Don't ask me why, I barely know myself. Perhaps because, at seventy, I'm yearning more and more to feel life happening. The twentieth, when it arrived, was cold and grey. The plan had been to launch myself across the grass like Isadora Duncan, unleashing all my locked-down energies; to surf the lawn in mighty strides and leaps and bounds, with lifted head and wide-spread arms. In the event, it didn't feel quite right.
The builders were erecting scaffolding next door. What's more, I knew the postman could pop through the gate at any minute. I went down to the bottom of the garden, found a shady spot amongst the laurel, beech and yew where nobody could see, and stripped off there. I caught a whiff of midnight fox. Damp, spongy leaf mould wormed between my toes. A veil of icy rain fell on my skin. I danced. Today, three thousand miles away, an old man, way past seventy, will bear my crazy hope upon his shoulders. I took a selfie, dressed then hurried back indoors, singing: We are stardust. We are golden.
Annie Fisher’s background is in primary education, initially as a teacher and later as an English adviser. Now semi-retired she writes poetry for both adults and children and sometimes works as a storyteller in schools. She has had two pamphlets published with HappenStance Press: Infinite in all Perfections (2016) and The Deal (2020). She is a member of Fire River Poets, Taunton. You can find them here: www.fireriverpoets.org.uk.