I woke this morning in parts,
making coffee with crossed wires
and crying coconut milk.
Washed my body in two minds;
one mine, one a critical mother,
blood weeping from cracks in her breast bone.
A broken mirror watches
as clothes are chosen with baggy fit for comfort,
pulled on with careful movements,
for the world cannot know
of the war I wear in my chest
when I am missing whole pieces of woman.
Rosalind Weaver is a poet and spoken word performer from the North of England. She has been published in a number of journals and zines, including most recently with Yellow Arrow Journal, Paper and Ink, and Dear Damsels, as well as in three anthologies. In 2018, her work was displayed at the annual Rape Crisis UK Conference, as well being displayed and performed at two further exhibitions in London – “The Sunlight Project” and “Testimony.”
Erica Goss served as Poet Laureate of Los Gatos, California from 2013-2016. She is the…
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