Catriona Yule


My mother baked them cakes:
wrestled a cold God.
Yet they sped right back
to Him, and stone walls,
from our cosy living room.

Every week we watched
their hair flash the corner.
God: a knackered mortal,
weighed down in the ring,
sweating from her punches.

He was no match for her.
One by one, they settled
out of priesthood,
in different clothes
nurturing their young,

no doubt telling them
about the woman
who sold them a line
with her Tango Sponge.


Published in The tide breathes out, 2006
(Lemon Tree Writers)
and in Shedding Skin, 2007
(Koo Press)

The tide breathes out Shedding Skin

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