Poem of the day

A new semi-regular feature, perhaps, depending on how pretentious I'm feeling...

In The Birchwood

I had always wanted to shoot myself
and so perhaps it was inevitable
that one day I would find a gun in the birchwood
flick back what I took to be the safety catch
and launch my brain.

The neurons set off immediately
in all directions, reminding me
how often I had needed to be in two places at once,
how I had envied worms in their neat ability to divide
and divide again.

Here there and everywhere I lay,
half wishing some part of me
had survived to help with the clearing up afterwards,
or keep an eye on gathering foxes
and frighten the crows.

Although it was odd to be inside out
in such cold weather
a hat would not have made much difference then,
and mine sat upside-down on a tree stump
filling with snow.

Kate Bingham, from the collection Quicksand Beach.