Folded card work
for my son
/ O my heart is the unlucky heir of the ages
/ And my body is unwillingly the secret agent
/ Of my…
Inside my mother
/ I peered through a glass porthole.
/ The world beyond was hot and brown.
/ They were all looking in on me…
The body: how we sit inside it impatient
/ as bees in a jar. The spark of intention,
/ heart thumping against…
As I sleep my scalp labours on
/ weaving glittering strands
/ from the dead fibres of my hair.
/ Never so noticeable…