(Some rockpools for R.)



Medusae – babes

in the wood, with milky domes

and faint fontanelles;


constellations that

someone shook into the sea,

orphan circlet of


fangs, spasming, a

mussed map of heavens, thimbles

on the tide, all thumbs.



Across the rockpool’s frilled theatre,

a limpet budges

a devastating millimetre


Nature Study

Salted tapwater – she knits it

with puzzled antennae;

and from her shell


unpacks a banana bunch of claws,

her googly haversack of roe,

and last – fascination and woe –


a trailing corkscrew quiff of tail,

a soft nought –

her kernel.


Jen Hadfield



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