Jessamine O Connor is a poet living in the rural west of Ireland, where she facilitates the award winning 'Hermit Collective', and 'The Wrong Side of the Tracks Writers'. Her three chapbooks are available from www.jessamineoconnor.com
Jessamine O Connor
This grief keeps reaching up like a fish
with its wide rubbery mouth gaping to feed,
swallowing me from the inside out,
the sting as fins cut scars in my guts.
A tail sprouts in my uterus
where we both grew those babies in the dark,
allied against the asshole who wanted them dead
twelve years ago.
Now its morning and mine sits across from me
at our window, purple headphones in,
just scowling vacantly at the rain
and yours is gone.
Like that. Here and not.
He can't be trapped in that suit and box,
he must be how he was, wild and beautiful as a doll,
coming down now from the mountain alone.