In the canon
Punishment
- Form
- Form Poem
- Year
- Year 1975
- Pages
- Pages 2
A poet looks at the preserved body of a girl executed in an Iron Age bog and admits he understands, better than he wants to, the crowds who punish women in his own Ulster.
I can feel the tug of the halter at the nape of her neck, the wind on her naked front.
The blurb, the gist, the why of the day and the work itself are in the app. The first button needs it on this device; the second gets it there.