Sheila Jacob writes

Blodwen’s Bones                                                                                     

They parcelled up my bones,
sent them from Cheshire
to Llandudno-look, here’s
the crown of my skull,
vertebrae, rib-parings,
fragments of hips, pelvis,
a scattering of limbs.

Experts scanned and probed.
Blodwen, they wrote,
(though I never answered
to such a name) was five foot
tall, had arthritis, secondary
cancer, carried heavy weights
and farmed on the Little Orme.

Oh, my sad bones,
no-one heard your lament
when they pinned you
under glass.

Sing it louder, tell out my love
for mountain slopes, wide
copper skies, the dance
of rain on my hair.

Imagining Blodwen