Poems

Elizabeth Smither: The man in the hammock and The swan neck

The swan neck   The doctor placed his fingertips together to make a steeple near his stethoscope and blotter. “Your daughter has a swan neck,” he declared.   My father had discovered as I stretched my soon-to-be-named neck an apparent lump rising against the flesh.   Probably nothing, he thought, but he eyed it for several mornings while I ate my porridge. Better have it seen to, for safety’s sake.   I made it worse by stretching up my neck like a real swan. It was a school morning and I hadn’t done my homework.   “Do you mind if…

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