Poetry by Annest Gwilym : Rhosmeirch ’71

Endless days awash with sun and bees,
yellow flowers towered over me on the path
to the witch’s house in the woods.

The musical box with its stiff, pink plastic ballerina
played Swan Lake as my father’s home-brewed beer
burped its yeasty smell into the kitchen.

There were mountains jagged as teeth,
purple with heather and distance,
viewed from the sunny bay window seat.

The road to chapel was sweetened by wild strawberries –
an intense explosion on the tongue,
gritty, brimful with summer.

But one windy day at the end of August
I found our missing cat sprawled in a ditch,
her glossy suppleness collapsed to a popped balloon,
her face an ugly rictus and grimace of death.

Wolfpack Contributor: Annest Gwilym

A Fevers of the Mind Quick-9 Interview with Annest Gwilym

A short story by Annest Gwilym “Windows”