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Marie-Therese Taylor: a poem

Her Place

On cold days, from the kitchen window

I have seen her, walking the path where her ashes lie.

A winter woman, my father called her.

There was an implication of stone

but I thought of icicles above the window

trapping time in bubbles of air.

Such pains she took to teach me

the steps of a dance I would need

for my wedding, and the days thereafter.

She occupies this chair in which I sit

slipping yarn to make the stitch,

the memory in my fingers completing the task.

MT Taylor’s work has appeared in The Interpreter’s House, Glasgow Review of Books, Ink Sweat and Tears, The Lake, Algebra of Owls, Ofi Press, Under the Radar and Northwords. She has worked as a librarian in Fife, Aberdeenshire, and Edinburgh and now lives in Glasgow. She has four children who still talk to her, and who she still frequently interrupts.


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