At Home with Emily Brontë

Ironing is her favourite task.

The rhythm and the steam

transport her to an outer state

more vivid than a dream –

a place of creased and crumpled hills,

a wet and heavy land

through which a burning body moves,

directed by her hand.

Each stroke a stride, the rugged earth

dissolves into a plain

whence she can touch the brooding clouds

and taste the coming rain.

This wide expanse, this untrod moor

she spreads out fresh each day

and, godlike, when she’s done with it

she folds the world away.