By Stewart Conn
Tiny in night-attire
he clings to his cot for fear
of what shadows may be there.
Comforting him I try to remember
Achilles’ mother’s prayer
to the gods, to save him from line of fire.
‘This the last night ever
you’ll be able to say you’re three:
tomorrow you are a year older.’
‘And a little taller.’
of the wild boar
lurking in its brambled hiding place
from Underwood (Mariscat Press: 2022)