Northwords Now

New writing, fresh from Scotland and the wider North
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by Lydia Harris

At birth they come in pairs, you can’t slide
a blade between them, bedstone fastened
to the bink, topstone with its oak handle,
free-form, ready to spin, ready to swallow
grain in a clockwise turn. A clean cloth under
to catch the puffed-out meal, cloud on the breath
between edge and edge, a whirr, sometimes a click
from the throat and they ride and spew, mark time,
run rough over husks, steady heart, steady beat,
as the days shrink, as they wear themselves smooth.

The Board and Editor of Northwords Now acknowledge support from Creative Scotland and Bòrd na Gàidhlig.
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