Heidi Williamson grew up in rural
Norfolk. Her father was a printer and she grew up on a council estate in a
single parent family. She is currently interested in representations of women
who leave the family home. She has been Poet-in-Residence at the John Jarrold
Printing Museum, London Science Museum’s Dana Centre, and RLF Fellow at the
University of East Anglia. www.heidiwilliamsonpoet.com
The lion
tamer’s wife in the rain
‘We make
such a pitiful
sight
that the circus-master
is in
tears’
Tua Forsstro├╢m
transl. David McDuff
I think, watching the robin settle
behind the porch oleander.
That it
has come to this:
the child
asks me a question
and I
distractedly shush her.
My mother
told me that when
a bird
sings in the rain
the storm
is about to end.
The robin
stays silent.
Its red
breast sheds breath after breath.
The girl
watches the carefree rain.
I’m
watching nothing really.
That’s what
our life has become.
A bird by
a stem in the rain.
The lion tamer’s wife meets a different
class of man
This one has polished brogues
and a gilet. He’s not prone to top hats
and when he bathes no scars surface.
After his regular office hours,
we meet in wine bars for early
evening drinks. His skin is as shiny
as his tie. Our wine glasses clink
in agreement but when the dull
roar of conversation stalls,
I scan the room as if it were
an audience. The lights
remain dim and unmoving.
When I rise to visit the gleaming
bathrooms, clumps of sawdust
trail from my shoes.
Truth
be told, the lion tamer
is a
mild man, fond of all creatures.
He
respects the traditions of his art
and
only wishes to demonstrate
the
leonine glory of his companions.
The
fact is, he grew up among felines.
He
taught himself to care for them
in
their own ways. Later, when they each
deserted
him, he was distraught.
The
lion tamer’s favourite
lioness
knows all this
when
she leaves him
for
another lion tamer.
