Swansong

As days grew colder, I hauled the outside world in, settled it by the fire with a hand-sewn blanket and a nip of something to warm its tired bones. When it grew hungry, I fed it on thick broth and home-baked bread, and when it cried, I held it, firm and gentle, as if it was a glass swan. When I settled for the evening, I gave it control of the remote and it chose to watch nothing, taking comfort in its reflection in the blank screen; but when it came time for bed, it draped towels over every mirror in the house for fear of what they might let in. I began a bedtime story, but it stopped me with a tired smile, content to know only that there was once a boy who lived in a cottage in a wood. When the morning came, the smell of fresh coffee and home-baked bread drew me downstairs to a room that was empty of everything but broken mirrors. Outside, a glass swan sang of a boy who lived in a cottage in a wood.

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Oz Hardwickis a European poet, who has published “about a dozen” full collections and chapbooks, including Learning to Have Lost (IPSI, 2018) which won the 2019 Rubery International Book Award for poetry, and most recently A Census of Preconceptions (SurVision, 2022). Oz is Professor of Creative Writing at Leeds Trinity University.

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