“Born in England, to a Trinidadian father and mother of Ghanaian descend; 
Sheree Mack is in her early thirties, recently married with a 6 year old son. 
After teaching English for seven years in various places around the country, 
she has decided to hang up her red pen and register and devote all her time to writing. 
She is the creator and coordinator of identity on tyne, the only group in the North East of England
providing a space exclusively for writers of colour.
She’s a poet at heart but now thinks it’s time to diversify. 
She currently lives in Newcastle upon-Tyne.” 


 

                          Peony

Delicate to the touch and the eye,
ready to grow.

Roots tentative but spreading wide,
a long slender neck winding skyward.

A balanced, concealed head.
Not yet open, not yet mature.

Come late spring, she will be breathing,
fragrant, red, with unknown potential.

So much promise, so much beauty,
gone in the senseless grip of a hand. 

He, the depraved, knows the canker smell of his breath.



The Overseer’s Daughter

With the sun high in the sky, I watch her from the shade.
She works in the field, with the other hands, back grooved, muscles taut.

Difficult to make her out from the sea of coarse colourless material
and the rags covering their sooty woolly heads.

She stands for breath. Her darting almond eyes scan the horizon
almost like a filly planning flight.

Collecting beads of sweat from her forehead with the back of a calloused hand,
her fingers graze high cheekbones and a strong neck.

Regal. Her molasses complexion is the gift of my loins.
The mark of her mama can be traced in the curve of her breasts, 

and the outline of her childbearing again and again hips.
She’s a beauty. I will have her once more.