A Poem by Pippa Little

An Axe Is Only as Good as Its Handle

My man cut you from timber grown north of Otterburn.
He carved, sanded, weighed your heft from left to right:
something about you called to him, seemed eager for the blade,
eager to cleave your brothers down. I made good fires.

His palms turned to callus, whorled hard bark.
You became soft as skin:
he held you more than he ever did me.
Summer after summer I waited.

Pippa Little is an award-winning poet who lives in Northumberland. Some poems have appeared in Bloodaxe's new anthology Staying Human and in Dark Mountain. Her third collection, Time Begins to Hurt, comes out from Arc in 2022.