Cow Parsley

In the back lane I take your hand

summer pushes through the ground

spraying white, yellow, gold

a wedge of colour where foxgloves attend

your impossibly small fingers

steady in my own

your feet in box-fresh

My First Shoes

both knowing and unknowing

they stomp

over the gravel

you point

I say

it’s called cow parsley

and you say

moo

my heart cracks

our shadows move on

your smile echoing

through the hedgerows.

Kirsty Crawford is a writer and community engagement manager who lives in Glasgow with her husband, son and dog. She has a BA in Creative Writing and an MSc in Wildlife Biology. Previously working in London as a performer, she switched career to focus on environmental conservation. She was recently commended in the Magma Poetry Competition and has been published in Poetry Scotland, Motherlore, Ink Sweat and Tears and Meniscus Journal and featured in anthology collections by Speculative Books and Motherhood Uncensored.