Old wives' tales
Today I heard Anger in a seashell cupped to my ear.
I said: it’s just a whisper of my overactive imagination Anger
just my own voice singing Anger back old and tiny hurts Anger
posing as the tide Anger just an old wives’ tale Anger
but old wives had old husbands who returned from sea
with hardened hands and fish hooks and old wives gathered
in the dawn and while the town called them gossips they swapped
seashells and heard a seismic shift somewhere far down telling them:
Something is coming. The animals are fleeing to higher ground.
Go. Wake the neighbours up. Make as much noise as you can.
ROSIE STOREY HILTON works for an independent press based in Manchester, and is involved in climate action in London. She recently recently curated and edited an anthology, Green Verse: an anthology of poems for our planet, for Saraband, and self-published a poetry pamphlet, Between Solstices, in 2022. In her spare time she obsesses about pop music and listens to too many podcasts.
