Kelly Watt

She lies in bed, sick with night sweats and shivers, aching joints. Strange premonition of something not right. Incessant rain the crops have withered and died. The fire crackles like a living thing, rearranging itself. Grandmother tiptoes across the wooden floor on cold bare feet to coax the fire. Returns to the warmth of her rank bed. Juice of black beetroot and honey will clear the head. The clock ticks. Her only friends—ghosts from the past— trip soundlessly in and out her door, conversing in breathy voices only she can hear. This matter of their untimely fate. Woven rug, soot-stained hearth, rocking chair in the afternoons on better days. One small lamp to read by. The Book of Hours. Marked passages, underlined with tears. Poems for warding off impending grief. The girl child who died too young, only ten. What God would allow such a thing? The sketch of her on the mantel still. A twist of ringlet. The smile for days. When we lose a child, the next is more precious, like Little Red. Grandmother counts the days until the girl visits—smoke and ash, old cheese, dried bread. Meanwhile, the cow collapses, a sheep dies. Their rigid limbs curse the sky. The cat absconds, and the rats play havoc in the kitchen at night. Horse flesh for stew, rumours of cannibalism too. The world’s gone mad. They say the wolf is out and about. 
      She doesn’t recognize her face anymore in the cracked glass. Long hair now alabaster. She braids and coils it into her cap. 
      And waits. 
For the daughter of the weaver and the wood carver. Breath of fresh spring air. Red velvet cap and hood. Grubby hands, dirty fingernails. How she loves them! Dream of promised wine and cake. The child wears grandmother’s original face. When Little Red bends to kiss grandmother’s cheek, the faeries will sigh, the sun will bless the stars…. But for now, grandmother listens for footsteps. Is that a scratching at the latch? Smell of roots and wild recklessness. 
    Who’s there? Grandmother asks.

Kelly Watt’s third book is a collection of poetry and flash prose. The Weeping Degree: How Astrology Saved Me From Suicide was an Amazon bestseller, and a finalist with The Wishing Shelf Book Awards, U.K. (2024). She lives in Ontario with her partner and draws strength from the woods.