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Dream Poem 103: The Knives A Bronze Age village near the sea Round low houses with high pitched thatch. Inside peaty smoke, prismatic blacks Long shadows. Red light from the fire pit rising up blue light from the sky, slanting down in a shaft through the smoke hole. A curdling of smouldering curls make paisley patterns of the air. I am the chief’s daughter eleven years old. This is my house All my relatives and family live here together. Vikings from over the sea live in the next village. They come and steal from us. I have two knives, One is a special dagger, the other one is an everyday blade. I must hide them so they are not taken from us. I am small and insignificant wrapping the knives in a skin I push it into my clothes and hide. The Vikings come shove around my brothers scare my mother. Make nuisances of themselves fall down drunk in a tent next to where I’m hiding. I wriggle out and manage to find...