A Poem by Jo Mazelis

Cliveden

Yes, I’ve been, though the circumstances
were very different. The National Trust
runs it now, and yet a day of cooling
shadows in late May or early October feels
ominous. It is not the sort of afternoon
in which to seek solace in the cool blue
water of the walled swimming pool. Nor can
visitors of any importance — leaders of state,
politicians, minor royalty — be spied. We are
the rabble — daughter, mother-in-law, baby.
There are the usual stone urns. The usual
gravel underfoot, a paved terrace. But

ley lines must criss-cross here; snakes
dispelling and recoiling from history,
never stilled, never silent. Marking time
as we levitate, our toes not quite
scraping the earth; or the paving stones or
(as in a painting by Dorothea Tanning)
the green, where shark fins break the surface
of the faultless croquet lawn.

Jo Mazelis is a novelist, short story writer and photographer. Her collection of stories Diving Girls was shortlisted for the Commonwealth Best First Book and her debut novel Significance won the Jerwood Fiction Uncovered Prize in 2015. Her third collection of stories, Ritual, 1969 was longlisted for the Edge Hill award.  Her poetry has appeared in a number of books and magazines.