One Poem Only
One Poem Only is a daily ritual: one poem, center stage, just for now.
after Ella B. Winters
it doesn’t take much to see
through skin, through blood, through bones
i’ve etched poems in each rib
this cage can only hold so many stories
see how this poem is stuck in the marrow
see how this poem is caught in the hollow
do i have to break these bones
for you
to read me
More from Toni Young ↓
And now for the poem this was written after.
Behind the dusty radiator,
green splashed like blood
spray in a B-film, from that time
when you decided
to paint our bedroom
in the middle of the night,
I keep my poems
hidden in a puce manila file
so unremarkable, it chameleons
into the background, pink tongue
unfurling to swallow my words
into the shadowy crevice.
Mostly, I don’t want you
to see them, as though,
in the starkness of the early
hours, when our walls
demand another change,
they might reveal my ugly
bones through the translucent
skin. But sometimes, I forget
they’re there, as well. Imagine
leaving them behind when we
move on. Who will I be when
unsuspecting tenants pull me
out word after word like a magician’s
string of endless gauzy scarves?
How will they piece my naked bones
together? What colour will they
paint the room?
More from Ella B. Winters ↓
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Feed yourself poetry every day.