Jeanette Lynes: A Poem

Image by Amanda Elwell, courtesy Red Edge Images Jeanette Lynes JOHN CLARE IN LOVE (1818) He first saw her from afar – tramping across the field, a kind of moving statue, a girl heavy in good places. He scrambled up a pollarded tree to mark her shape and direction. He’d fallen from trees before. This time despite the ale, he hung on. Even from a distance he knew she’d look fine milking cows. Her sturdy form, those hands would draw the milk, would work the teats. High in the tree, he was more besotted than a bird, and happier. His eyes followed her vanishing over the grassed horizon. He climbed to earth, penned two poems to her beauty. Anyone in love will recognize this, the heart’s highest moment, this ledge of clock before the beloved’s mouth opens and awry things go and go until the end of time. But there’d be buckets to fill with wildflowers, the greensward to harvest, before that befell them, her name to discover. Could she love a lime-burner? Li