Like the sand and the oyster, it's a creative irritant. In each poem, I'm trying to reveal a truth, so it can't have a fictional beginning.

I think the dangers are different now. Our abuse of the planet and our resources is an anxiety.

It's always good when women win things in fiction because it tends to be more male-dominated, unlike poetry, which is more equal

Christmas is taken very seriously in this household. I believe in Father Christmas and there's no way I'd do anything to undermine that belief.

Where I lived - winter and hard earth.I sat in my cold stone roomchoosing tough words, granite, flint,to break the ice. My broken heart -I tried that, but it skimmed,flat, over the frozen lake.She came from a long, long way,but I saw her at last, walking,my daughter, my girl, across the fields,In bare feet, bringing all spring's flowersto her mother's house. I swearthe air softened and warmed as she moved,the blue sky smiling, none too soon,with the small shy mouth of a new moon.

If we think of what's up ahead, with climate change and wars over water, it's very frightening.

For me, poetry is the music of being human. And also a time machine by which we can travel to who we are and to who we will become.