A poem by Katrina Naomi

  Charlotte Brontë’s Corset I’m sorry Charlotte for this disservice. Of course, your corset is discoloured, these padded cups no longer coral pink. Strips of whale plunge the depths of your bodice, the slightly rusty metal strip grips from breastbone to wasp-waist. I feel like a tabloid reporter, sniffing around the armholes of your life.                                         I once wore a corset in my late teens, … Continue reading A poem by Katrina Naomi