![]() I smelled a like smell when I was sent, as a little girl, to fetch my father away from the Red Lion and to supper. ![]() It is a complicated, I think, mannish smell. There is a smell to my mother, when she is sleeping. Dark hair spread about the pillow, matted and greasy and greying in places. A beam of morning light from the window slices over the left cheek. I stand at the end of her cot and consider her face. I have woken and put on my work dress, which is near enough my only dress, and yet she remains asleep. Ī hill wet with brume of morning, one hawberry bush squalid with browning flowers. Her poetry and prose has appeared in The London Review of Books, Poetry, Poetry Review, and The White Review. She has also translated the work of Sichuanese poet Yu Yoyo. Blakemore is the author of two poetry collections: Humbert Summer and Fondue, which was awarded the 2019 Ledbury Forte Prize for Best Second Collection. ![]() ![]() Blakemore’s new novel, The Manningtree Witches, which follows the residents of a small English town in the grip of the seventeenth-century witch trials. ![]()
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