Inkings

Blackthorn

On Sunday,before Mum’s cancer was confirmedwinter yawned a warm shiverand wee white buds—still with a boreal bite—popped from dark-bark spindles,      yet to leaf,phosphorescent against blue-black hueslike earth stars discarded from the sky. I nipped outside and snipped thebaby branches from the main trunk,rehoming them indoors, redressingthe air with decaying base notes,topped with a…