**tw: sui ideation**
ankles hanging over the sofa, i vow
to take good care of myself today.
& today i'll mean it.
it's so hard to love myself
the way i love
anything else:
the frozen raspberries i
eat, just on their own,
the frosted windowsill looks pretty, for
once, & not
something to dangle over. people forget there is warmth in the body—
& how
mine is the water
keeping me clean, & mine is
the hand making food to eat. this
is how winter learns to love me back—
all splutteringly, so slowly & then all at once.
i don't love her
any less. cold
from the window, i try to teach
him a lesson but still he wants to
meet
soon—in london grey or somewhere
the same. to that, i say
sometimes there is something in the
nothing of a sound—& sometimes it is
all the other way around. i feel ill
quite quickly, my mother
makes me share my shame
with the garden. still the flowers bloom. i watch them
the way my mother watches me. intently, waiting on something to wilt.
even in an open hand, i couldn't find love. for so long, i was told i was
looking wrong. now i know there
was no love to be found—
it's here now, where i
live alone. it's in the slow days,
where my body hurts but i still laugh.
how i wash the face & leave the
rain for the earth. you know,
there are plants that thrive in winter.
to my mother now, i'd
say come & sit next to me.
don't forget to turn off the kitchen light.
YOU ARE READING
body work
Poesia**for fans of plath, anne sexton & ocean vuong** 'body work' is a captivating collection of poetry that delves into the depths of human experiences, exploring the intricate relationship between the physical body & the emotional & spiritual realms. w...
