Claire's Corner: The Hollow of the Day

Poetry from Claire Sylvan's book, Turnings

The Hollow of the Day

Bending the husks of the field flowers, shaking out
The last tiny seeds, to tumble where they may, 
Field mice or take root next spring, 
November's cackling wind turns at the stone wall 
To rattle the barren branches
And appropriate the final clinging leaves
Of the ragged ancient yellow birches. 

It is the hollow of the day 

I could sit on this rock and disappear; 
Drain through my feet
To where the glacier left centuries' cache 
Of stones, to rise each spring. 

Stones for these massive fences 
Aren't much in the way of a crop. 
The women who dragged them, year by year, 
Eking a living on their allotment
Have themselves gone to earth. 
Their children
And their children's children
Work the easier fields of cities.
The wind shakes my naked heart 
With their stories. 

About Claire Sylvan

Born within earshot of the Atlantic, on the rugged westernmost coast of Cornwall, England, Claire has a deep affinity for rocks, water, and sacred places on earth. 

Claire has lived, worked, and raised a family in Haliburton County amidst good kind friends for 35 years and 8 years in friendly Almonte. She and her partner, Bev, are known as "the Grannies" to an ever increasing population of wondrous children.