Tracy Gaughan

Incubation

When winter comes stalking
it clings to the rib of a tree.
An abandoned nest. A heart.
A rejection of myself by myself.
After the wind, I find it rolled up
in the sleeve of night, in the leaves.
A solid deep cup of lichen, spider-silk,
a length of blue yarn I pull like a worm
from the earth; trace back to the secrecy
of myself. I wait blind and helpless.
In a few hours, I will spread my wings.

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Tracy Gaughan‘s poetry and short fiction have featured in The Blue Nib, The Bangor Literary Journal, Spillwords, Pendemic, and others. She recently completed an MA in International Literatures. She lives in Galway.