Originally from rural Wales, Nia Harries has lived in East Yorkshire the past 7 years. A single mother and occasional blogger, her self-published collection ‘Walking through the shadows’ was published in 2017 and she is working on her next collection. She has featured in The High Wolds Poetry Festival and accompanying collections, The Amphibian Literary Journal, Delicate Emissions, Noctivagant Press, Discretionary Love, Boats Against the Current, Fiery Scribe, Lucent Dreaming, Lothlorien Poetry journal and will soon feature Sunday Morning at the River’s next anthology.
Social Media handles: – Blog- niaharries.wordpress.com Twitter: @niaharries1 Instagram:@realniaharries
Chapbooks
Hues of Harvest time
Did you ever call in the harvest? Collect the hay by hand
until you were speckled with red dots up each arm,
and wondered idly what disease
you may have acquired,
when all along it was just hard work.
Did you ever pile it high?
In peaks and mounds waiting
to be collected,
whilst the midday sunshine
had you dripping in sweat
and reaching for the bottled cider, because of thirst, naturally!
Did you laugh with your neighbours?
Then fight over the best rake;
the one that still had its prongs
and didn’t give you splinters,
while trying not to notice
the fields still to gather
before dark came.
Did you lie in the sweet cut grass?
Inhale the very freshness,
dryness, goodness of it,
whilst nibbling at your
hard- earned bread,
cheese and apple,
wishing for bigger portions.
Did you drag and scrape,
and push, and lift it high? Sweaty brow and back aching, as the horses came
at last to gather in,
just as you thought your body could do no more.
Did you sigh when the last cart
pulled away?
Knowing you could go home
to peel off
the layers of dust and work,
undo your corset and breathe
deeply once more.
Did you turn and look back
at the field a last time,
as the darkness trickled in?
Remembering the days of
toil and togetherness,
and feel a small pang of sadness, or
maybe it was just the cider.
Shooting Stars
Tonight I missed you.
There was a dull ache in
my chest, and I knew
you were missing me too
in some small way.
I stood unmoving in the kitchen;
suspended in time,
glimpsed a star,
and headed out to the cold
to feel you again.
Head tilted upward,
cloud formations moving at pace,
hiding constellations.
A wannabe weatherman’s heaven.
But no shooting stars tonight.
I watched just in case.
Remembered that night
we marvelled as those beauties
shot across the sky,
huddled together in happiness.
I smile, turn my head away
and head back to the warm.
Ignore the momentary sadness
at seeing your toothbrush
sat with mine in my bathroom.
Climbing into bed I realise
I’ve not changed the sheets
since you last slept in them with me,
I can’t wash you away yet,
maybe tomorrow.
Sleepy I close my eyes,
whisper your name like a prayer,
touch the place your head slept
and hope you feel my arms.
Yes, tonight I missed you.
The Field Guide Poetry Magazine 