by LUCY WINROW
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I let my fingers run Through their fingers As we float on our backs On silent chalky waters Where branches claw up Limbs dip down Unsettling milky murk The tight air pinching Exhausted eyelids closed Four fish bellies flop apart In kaleidoscopic symmetry
Wood bumps up against A trailing bloodless leg Bolting open an eye to the Smashed pieces of our boat Floating flowers Books and baby photos The body will wriggle, Flit in sleep paralysis Lips twitch for words Rising to the panic Of cling film stretched Quietly over the face Making breath balloon In inverted bubbles Expanding Into the nose and mouth. |
Lucy Winrow has a PhD in the poetry of Selima Hill and teaches poetry part-time at Salford University, UK; her research interests include embarrassment, shame, guilt and violence. She has had poems published in anthologies and journals in the UK and America including Popshot, Orbis, Ariadne's Thread and Puppywolf's anthologies The Best of Manchester Poets Vol 2 and Vol 3.
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