She blew in on the East Wind
Clinging to an umbrella
Of black silk and memory
Snipped from a thundercloud’s heart
And stretched over hollow bones.
She walks streets in silence now
And sings her songs through others.
The raven is her favourite:
Its croak is resonant with
Deep-toned bells and April rain
And cries of children to be fed
With cakes and meat and carrots
And shown that love is not just
A kiss and whimsys catered
But knowledge that others dream.
Mary Poppins promises
Two things: she will hear your screams
From the deep and treacherous
Commerce blue of china bowls
Where old men leer in shadows;
And she will help you smash them
When she blows in resonant
With ravens’ throats and thunder.