Self Portrait as North Yorkshire
By Lola Haskins
One day the sun’s so hot
that the smallest stroll wets
the skin. The next, it’s forty
degrees with steady rain
and the moor-tops shrouded
in fog. The day after that is
dry but grey, with winds that
scream like someone spinning
out of control. If I tell you
this has been happening
over and over inside my body,
you will understand why,
when you speak to me,
I do not answer but only stare.