“…a poem is a way of happening, a mouth.” (W.H.Auden)

Folding Sheets

Oh God, she loved corners. 

Sundays saw her iron out sins from our week.

Preparing them to rest, we stood sheet apart –

huge triangles of cloth squared like envelopes.

Take a blue thing, fold it so it cannot know.

Even in the dark, it wraps itself around those it loves. 

Now – safe, and set in pale stone of this moon,

head in crook of arm, you are corner to my cloth.

Amy Wyatt is a poet, artist and lecturer from Bangor, Northern Ireland. Her debut poetry pamphlet, A Language I Understand, is published by Indigo Dreams https://amylouisewyatt.com/. Amy is the founding editor of The Bangor Literary Journal.