Catherine Ayres, "Janus"

Catherine Ayres is a teacher and poet from Alnwick in Northumberland. Her first collection, Amazon, was published by Indigo Dreams in 2016. She is widely published both in print and online. She has recently completed a Creative Writing PhD at Northumbria University, focusing on women living on Hadrian's Wall at the time of Roman occupation. She studied English Literature at the University of Leicester 1991-1994.

About Janus, by Catherine Ayres
Slipping through time over the course of a calendar year, the poems in Janus, like the two-headed Roman god, look both forward and back, charting the significant moments in an ordinary life. This collection is an exploration of those memories which "make circles / glint like birds in the light."

You can read more about Janus on the publisher's website here. Below, you can read two sample poems from the collection. 

From Janus 

June 1983 - a weekend playing out with my best friend Emma

Oddbods

We embroider our edges with slow smiles,
tuck ourselves into home-made jumpers
and hide in our mothers’ expectations.
We are happiest in the avocado shadow of bathrooms,
turning over sea urchins with trembling hands;
or crouched next to French windows, listening
to a scratched recording of birdsong.
Our guinea pigs are called Monica - they are both boys.
We like our eggs hard boiled, our celery lined with salt.
We know how to use a soup spoon.
We do not understand posters; all our clippings
are pinned to floral wallpaper. Our bedrooms
are like conches, delicate and full of whispers.
(It is often hard to leave them).
Laughter clatters round us like knives falling in another room;
we are soft and solemn as Sundays and do not flinch.
One day we will live in the tree on the hill,
hang our horse brasses from its branches.
When our dandelion clocks swim like spiders
towards the moon, we will teach the teddies about Jesus,
serenade the cowpats with our favourite hymns.
It won’t matter that our dollies are lonely;
we will draw them close, wipe the tears
from their large, unblinking eyes.

April 2020 - lockdown

Mum

When I crunch down your drive
with some carrots, a wholemeal loaf -
unsliced – you stand in the garage
and use the remote to tilt its door

emerging slowly, feet first,
like a breech birth, or Darth Vader,
if Darth Vader wore Skechers, a John Lewis
top. For a moment, your face floats

then you step forward, submissive,
as if these groceries were the Host,
and I step back, as if your eyes
were metre rules. We’re silent,

ceremonious, a bit pissed off. Mum,
we’re more alike than I let on.
Behind you, in the kitchen,
there’s an awkward hug. Cheese scones.