Mary Anne Clark


At a window in late December

A shy frost
like a fox has left a few footprints
across the railway track.
A tree draws in a breath of birds.
Every time I write a poem I forget how to do it.

Please carry on.

The tree breathes in a cloud of birds.

Every time I say a prayer I forget how to do it.

The sun in clear shards from the near-white sky.
I press my eyes hard closed and when I open them
there it is again, the cold, sharp, pointed brightness of the world.



Mary Anne Clark studies English at Merton College, Oxford, where she won the 2016 Newdigate Prize. Her poems have appeared in ASH, The Mays, and two anthologies from The Emma Press.