In all our sanctuaries we sit at risk

Trace a Fraught Frontier


Where’s the fraught frontier between

Mercia and East Anglia ? Guards were stationed here

gazing out from within. And within

was somewhere to die for. And without

was someone to kill. I explored it once,

that fraught frontier, now footpath

between nettles. It was sunday

and Cambridge families were out walking there

after a good lunch.

And where’s

the fraught frontier between Wales

and the Marches ? Along the rivers

and escarpments, where the great dyke is,

and where King Edward’s sentries pace

to and fro behind his walls,

those battlements, those helmets.

They attract significant income these days

for the Tourist Board.

And where’s

the fraught frontier between my innocence,

and your guilt, my dread

and your threat, that roar

of hooves across the Steppes

towards my heart’s core ?

Let me

touch your shoulder, stranger.

I mean you no harm. Might you

cup my cheek, enquiringly ?



Rogan Wolf