Fiona Robyn is a writer and a blogger from rural Hampshire. She edits a literary blogzine at www.ahandfulofstones.com, and posts about her life as a writer at www.plantingwords.com. Her first collection of poetry is Living Things, and her debut novel, The Letters, will be published by Snowbooks in March. Her main site is at www.fionarobyn.com.
I have carried living things in my hands all week, sneaked up on
daddy-long-legs, pulled them off painted walls and held their brittle
I’ve picked up blue-black beetles like shiny stones, moved them
from inside rooms to out; they stick to my thumb, they seem
happy enough to cling on. Best of all, the two young frogs
who’d come onto the kitchen tiles to see what they could find.
I watched them bending their tiny legs, toothpick bones side,
felt their rubbery skin against mine as they pushed away, they were
I have held living things in my hands all week, knowing
if I wanted I could close the space between my fingers.
And I think how it might have been for those two frogs, to be lifted up
so high, so fast: and when the light comes back they could be anywhere.