The Snake
New publisher Clochoderick, named after the Clochoderick Stone in Renfrewshire, have not long since published a clutch of new poetry titles, including Tree standing small (Clochoderick, £7.99), the debut collection from Helen Allison. It is packed, mostly, with short poems that rework episodes of family drama. ‘The Snake’ concerns a missing ring, given away years ago by an aunt who, from the opening lines of the poem, sounds vulnerable. The fate of the ring haunts the poet and although she and her father looked for it after it went missing, it was never found. Now she counts on the ring itself recognising a family resemblance.
Great Aunt Lily turned day into night, tried to buy bread at the pub in her slippers, and gave all her jewellery to strangers. My father searched for her serpent ring in pawn shops, jewellers’ windows, and on the hands of silent neighbours. Forty years on, I pursue the snake I have never seen. She is coiled around air or finger, her tongue licking her golden tail. Though her eyes have faded, she will know my father’s emerald gaze, deep-set in the bezel of my face.