the dreams started then
an orange flash of fur
a forest chattering
a slip
the tiger breathing
hurricanes
on her naked spine

till the age of 9
she slept with
the window
shut
like glass could stop
a hunter

fear does not exhaust
children like adults
they devote
energy to it

it drives them
to their first
acts of escapism

a silver animal
spouts from the
hero’s wand

not
the wand
the book
drives the bad
things away

book over wand

her patronus
a stag
not because
that was harry’s
but for
the memory of waking
from years of nightmres

to sunlight on her face
her father rushing
in shouting look Kath
there’s something in
the garden and she looked and
the deer
softer than
dew arching to the
pond he had filled
two months ago
to drink and birds
singing

her headmaster had
whiskers he made them write
their patronus put it
in a hat and they
all repicked and did
presentations after
internet research she
wrote stag and picked
that word again scribed
with sloppier handwriting

and her presentation
was better than his
which copied sections verbatim
from the Dorling Kindersley animal encyclopedia
she wrote in her
own words about
stags how they shed
antlers every spring
and females they’re called
Hinds choose a stag
on the loudness of its
roar in rutting season
two Hinds are born for
everyone one Stag people
shoot them but they
say there are too many
I disagree she said
it’s not fair for humans
to decide that

she refused venison
when it was served
became vegetarian
earning the respect
of the hippies on
her mother’s side
and confused looks
from her Grandfather
who sat in his grey
house close to death

only ever leaving for church
and as the path lurches
to an open clearing
treetops bend
to make a vaunting
and twist themselves into seats
and a pulpit
before her eyes
as she is swept away
into family history

her Grandfather shuts his eyes
in the church

no sin to sleep

in the clearing ahead she sees him
sitting with his squadron
of Muslims and Sikhs