The world wore me like a medieval window

my eyes did not look out of.

I was untouched. Hair a caul of gold and stone.

A good, home-bodied, girl

called by a wild, wild hunger

over the dampness of leaves,

the earth still hot from summer

and me asking leave of no one.

And oh the press and crack

of your shells on my teeth,

the gamble of blood and musk

on my tongue. How I fed

on your gods – the seed, the cobs.

Of course, They lied.

Said I was tied. Held captive

in your tree – but each sleepless night

I played the harp and we swigged

on the joy of our wet cheeks.

No grey cat of years

devoured the rats of our children.

Only the wild, wild hunger called,

kept calling, calling us on.

And still They wanted my prayers.

You became me. Us.

Our low mouths are double-toothed as leaves.

Red hoods swell in our branches,

the golden tresses pollinate.

Wantonly.

Endlessly.

Wind cast.

Starvation Song is a feminist re-vision of an ancient ballad, said by one observer to have ‘suffered severely by the accidents of tradition. [It] has been not simply damaged by passing through low mouths, but ha been worked over by low hands.’ It is said that while gathering hazelnuts Lady Margaret was caught by Hind Etin (also known as Akin in some ballads), an elfin protector of the hazel. He tied her to the tree by her hair, refusing to release her until she married him and bore his children. We are reminded of her fate when her golden tresses reappear as catkins in winter on the hedgerows that line the lake.