Midwinter Light

Pruning Roses
My father always pruned the roses
ritually, showed me how to find
the outside bud, to trim and shape
and yet allow the plant to breathe and grow.
We'd burn the prunings - green sap
spat and hissed. I breathed
the wood smoke in for life
to mingle with my breath
on winter days.
I never can quite cut them
down to size. Those winter hips,
bright bitter lanterns
travelling through the years.
Midwinter light stands still.

Ann Timoney Jenkin uses everyday subjects - from pruning roses to postcards, from grandchildren to graveyards - to show the extraordinary in our ordinary lives.