I, I myself,
have made the world anew
and if you turn from me
I fear you’ll see untimely yesterday –
Dead yesterday, the yesterday you buried
beneath the hill; if you go the door opens
anew to that life and that lady
you promised were nothing to you –
Are they nothing?
I will endure
no other in my place:
If you made me what I am,
what have I made you?
The Journal is a section where I post weekly poems responding to Hilary Mantel’s Wolf Hall trilogy. Here’s last week’s edition: