Some people cannot speak about their wounds
for very thought of blood will turn them red.
They like fresh wrapped bandage; clean bleached
sheets; starched towels; crisp new handkerchief.
They know why we’re first washed clean:
untraced womb; maternal plasma; amniotic sap.
Women-made women: women full of wombs
expel whatever they have chosen to expel.
Yet, some can’t speak about their wounds.
Ones in shock of fresh-flecked cloth, stoop, bow
and call out not again. Women, who the very
thought of blood will turn them deathly grey.
Amy Louise Wyatt is a lecturer, poet and artist from Bangor, N.I. She is the editor of The Bangor Literary Journal. Amy has been published in The Blue Nib, CAP Anthology, Lagan Online andFourXFour. She was a finalist in the 2016 National Funeral Services Poetry Competition and the 2017 Aspects Festival Poetry Slam and shortlisted for The Seamus…
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