Two poems by Rhiannon Auriol

Pink Cream

he baked pink cream
pies, down in Cornwall, summer
of ’05 with the brushed milk
sky and their shouts in my eyes.
this was the last year, the last
of all time, and he made
a batch of nine while I burned
on the side: the fruit came
apart like a mouth in his hands,
my pale child’s body blushing
hot on the sand, to mother
with her oh! what a lovely
surprise when she saw the nine
clotted sickly swirl-of-gooseberry pies
when she took tight hold of me
and spread it on thick – the wrong
cream! cream, cool and quick
in my crags, fresh, Cornish white
it dripped with delight
all the feverish length of me
to marble so pinkly
with the wet cream sea
A3 Feeling In The Eyes

I have done my worst.
Grounded my armies.
Confounded my armadas.
Obliterated their defences.
Held the woman by the throat
and eyes while the battle
romped its wages worth in wars
around us. Autoimmune, I have
cascaded like so much svelte
into this lap. I have done.
My worst – a geographic,
psychodramatic worst – no
prisoners, everyone blown
sky high. And when I plant
the final foot of command
upon this tender minefield,
all the tyrants will cry.
Rhiannon Auriol is a poet and playwright-in-training, currently studying in Edinburgh due to an idealised urge for some Walter Scott and rough-around-the-edges coastlines. Commended for the Christopher Tower Prize, Young Romantics Prize and Foyle Young Poet of the Year Award in 2017, she has had poetry published in Haverthorn magazine, rookiemag and on the Young Poets Network as well as having had a poem read out on BBC R3. She hopes to be able to overindulge in all things poetry and theatre while still a student, in between trying to carve out something like a degree, a life, or the cork of a red wine bottle. Twitter @rhiannonauriol