Welsh Journals

I swim in a rough sea, I fight, I claw, I rise, I fall, I rise. The surge, the surf, the swell. The labour-ward bell, The pain-dog's heavy paw, White clock-face, green distempered walls, Grey downward-looking profiles, Midwives, Twin seagulls, swooping, Great white birds crying, 'Use it Use it l' Another wave. Now! Go with it, girl, go with it, Let it swing you, let it bear you, Use it Use it Green sea swirling over the clock-face. I drown, I drown. Now washed up, shocked, Sightless on a coast line, Gasping, panting in a black tunnel, Within me a power, a cleaving force, An express train. But the tunnel is blocked. I smother Hovering birds, I am sightless, I hear you calling at the tunnel's mouth, White angels, put me out of this. The train is screaming—or is it I? It is I, the engine is within me, Louder, louder, louder Peace. Oh, great drops of peace. Oh, God, I thank you. The train is out; from far, a thin high wail. Not I this time. Another. My other. JEAN WARE