Two Poems
by Frieda Hughes

The Lady M

Her gold is gone now. Gotten old,
She has fallen in on her hard white cage.
Bone-dangled and clattering,

Her face is cut sideways and smiles.
She is my mother-eater, she has cheated me of love.
Dry as a split gourd

She meets me like a relative, a lover even.
But her face has drawn its pale curtains on
The pits that bog it, and

Her eyes are closed.
Their black coals are only painted on
Her hollow doll. She herself has gone.

The Idea of a Dog

The idea of a Rottweiler grew legs
And walked. Its big, square head
Atop the solid, barreled torso
Looked up, waiting for instruction
Or embrace. The idea was obedient,
Faithful, intimidating to others,
But the idea was lopsided.
So the idea developed a twin brother.
Now, in my head, I'd say "sit"
And they would, dogs in duplicate,
Each reflecting the other identically.
I could see myself walking the streets
Flanked by muscles moving in tandem
Over the powerful shoulders
Of my synchronized keepers.
Perhaps I'd redden my lips,
Wear sunglasses
And a very short skirt.