Three Poems by Lorraine Mariner

Sometimes I kept things

Sometimes I kept things
that people left at the library
where I work. Sunglasses,

a kitten purse for my niece
containing a plastic coin,
another woman’s husband.

I gave their owners
a few months
to reclaim them

but when they never showed up
demanding them back,
I helped myself.

Mistress

To keep this secret
I need to be a key.

An iron skeleton key
with an intricate bit,
a decorative flourish
at the bow.

The sort of key
Mr Rochester used
to lock his wife away.

He will need
to keep me close

if I’m not to open
on the truths
dancing in his attic.

I imagine the first time
Mr Rochester turned his key
and placed it in the pocket
of his riding jacket.

Purl

Since I mastered purl
Thanks to my mother’s patience

I’ve been thinking of her mother
Who could knit anything

I’ve been imagining my ancestors
Knitting by the fire

In a time of plague
I’ve been feeling medieval

In and around and off
Over and over

A case for my mother’s iPhone
Mittens and a cap for the baby

Protection
Protection

Lorraine Mariner lives in London and works at the National Poetry Library, Southbank Centre. She has published two collections with Picador, Furniture (2009) and There Will Be No More Nonsense (2014) and has been shortlisted for the Forward Prize twice, for Best Single Poem and Best First Collection, and for the Seamus Heaney Centre Poetry Prize. Her most recent publication is the poetry chapbook Anchorage, with Grey Suit Editions (2020).