Thursday, 4 August 2022

Body

 And my body says:

there's a fucking cosmos in here
suns stars galaxies comets
you should know
I am so much more than 
a storehouse for your trauma or
a battleground for your conflicts or
the bearer of your scars or 
the carrier of your soul
so don't pull your reductive objectifying imperialist bullshit on me
I am not something to be colonised by
whatever good intentions you have this month
or your warped ideas 
about purity and perfection. 

Let's just say
I know all your sleights-of-hand
your baiting and switching
we both know who you are
and we both know that you should be
on your knees
sinking into me
worshipping at my feet
and howling at my very miraculousness. 


Friday, 22 April 2022

Aftermath

In panic
I ran
from one place to another
to another
to another,
from one person
to the next
and the next. 

I took to hiding
in the spaces between words - 
silence a temporary refuge. 
I took to disappearing
into the slivers of stillness
between moments,
those lulls in which
no-one was noticing -
(there are more of them than you think) - 
putting off the inevitability
of emergence. 

I was always going to have to come out,
eventually. 

Wednesday, 9 February 2022

Table-Turning

 I want us to rise up and start a war -
Or at least to cause a commotion.

I want us to go to town on a Saturday night
And start a fight. 
I want us to rain down blows 
And cause men to fear. 

I want us to lose our shit in public. 

Long have we borne, cared, endured. 
Long have we nursed, tended, understood. 

It's time the tables were turned. 

Thursday, 2 December 2021

Contribution

Lying on my sofa in the late-afternoon sun
I sink into time, and time takes me 
To the duck-egg blue of the cabinet
And I see that somebody – somebodies –
Made all of this.
 
Wrote these books,
Painted these paintings,
Fitted these windows, more than once;
Plastered these walls,
Played this music,
And laid these pine floorboards,
A century and more ago.
 
Somebodies made these things of beauty,
These things of practicality,
And now their commingling voices
Come rippling through time.
 
Countless hands, countless minds,
Countless contributions, both seen and unseen;
Cups of tea made,
Dishes washed,
Secrets heard, 
Locks fixed.
 
Tears streaming down my face, now I see:
The preciousness of our souls cannot be measured
By the size or visibility of our contributions.

 

Monday, 15 November 2021

Wild

No more pain, the wind says - 
You've been too long in its quicksand. 

Beyond the muteness, 
Beyond the cravenness,
There's this -
This inlet where the tide comes in
These limpet-strewn rocks and
The orange beak of the oystercatcher
In the dim winter light.

Yes, layer upon layer has been stripped,
But what of wildness?
On this rain-lashed beach
It will no longer wait.
It wants me back:
I have been on loan to civility for far too long. 


Monday, 1 February 2021

Inhibition

If I was uninhibited
my hair would be wild and long
my eyes would be dark-ringed (like they used to be)
I would wear silver boots – legs akimbo -
and show my cleavage whenever I felt like it. 
 
If I was uninhibited
my house would be a sumptuous,
beautiful, eccentric mess -
as would I.
And if I was uninhibited
I would take up space like I meant it;
Sisters, there would be so much more of me.
 
If I was uninhibited, you would know me.
 
If I was uninhibited,
I would take back my sexuality -
lock stock and both smoking barrels -
and refashion it entirely for my own ends
 
If I was uninhibited
I would be spunky as you like
spilling over with generosity
I would be in the fray, punching my weight,
all muscles and teeth-baring,
snarling, howling, shrieking uproariously
and with the biggest shit-eating most glorious radiant grin
you have ever seen -
that is, when I wasn’t being silent because -
well, because.
 

Friday, 15 January 2021

On the Quiet

On the quiet, 
this cold and misty morning,
grace comes in - 
somewhere between sofa and window -
and tells me that I am forgiven.

Straight away,
I know that I am being forgiven
for trying to steal fire from the gods
and spilling my own jar of evils. 

Grace sneaks in
on the quiet,
subtle as always;
forgiveness does not come in a blaze of angels. 

You are forgiven, and I will be with you always.