izzy

the ocean’s in the walls again
thin windows pulling in the cold
cobbled streets scream out
drunk lyrics and shivering flesh

these hands like shovels,
trying to shift this bag of blood
and bones – up and out
into the slap of frigid air

*

sarah

She sat at her grandmother’s dining table
With an omelette for one and a jam jar of daisies
Stared at the seven spare seats round the rim
Pictured them filled with a riot of sons
And a dog for good measure, snuffling at their knees.
Later, standing half-dressed in the bathroom,
Listening to the whistle of the cistern refilling
And the rain waging soft wet war on the walls
She fingered the skin where her stomach met undies
And imagined the scars from a life full of love
Skating madly like bridges from her back to her thighs
Pulling her apart, holding her in.

*