Inside where the darkness stops,
her bones are soft, pliable, her head
half her weight. She curls in the curve
of the crescent moon. Week 28,
she feels pain. Inhales, exhales;
downy hair covers her skin, like his.
Her room’s changed shape, dimension.
No longer measured crown to rump,
she stretches her length, cranks up
Amy Winehouse, reads To the lighthouse
in her bed at night. She meets pain.
Inhales, exhales; dyes her hair, like his.
Opens The Waves.
Outside the morning blisters. I feel
her shift. Away. Resist.
She submerges, airless. Week 936,
head full of dreams half her weight
she buckles under, greets pain.
Inhales, exhales. Her hair skims
the water’s skin.
(Commended in The Frogmore Poetry Prize 2012)
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How to Pour Madness into a Teacup (Cinnamon Press) was shortlisted for The Forward Prize Best First Collection. Pindrop Press published Snow Child in 2011.