share


My Mother’s Hands

shed coral scales

& sunrise. In England, the inside

 

is ashen. She touches tangerine flowers,

when a woman

 

exiting her home in Camberwell cries,

go back to where you come from, as if

 

she carries still the scent

of dragon-fruit. I swallow

 

cherry stones. I flower

your abandoned garden

 

in my belly, to carry in me the whispers

of all your lost colours. I dream

 

in shades of lilac. Sometimes

my tummy hurts.


ABOUT THE CONTRIBUTOR

grew up between Oxford and Mexico City, with stints spent in France and Italy, and began writing poetry while living in Boston, Massachusetts. Her poems have been published in British, American and Canadian journals, including Blackbox Manifold, Colorado Review, The Missouri Review and Willow Springs, and are recently anthologised in Un Nuevo Sol: British Latinx Writers (flipped eye, 2019). 



READ NEXT

poetry

June 2013

Belly

Melissa Lee-Houghton

poetry

June 2013

When I was fifteen I took my two little cousins into town and had them wait outside the tattoo...

poetry

January 2014

Letters from a Seducer

Hilda Hilst

TR. John Keene

poetry

January 2014

At her death in 2004, Brazilian author Hilda Hilst had received a number of her country’s important literary prizes...

feature

November 2011

Nude in your hot tub...

Lars Iyer

feature

November 2011

I. Down from the Mountain   Once upon a time, writers were like gods, and lived in the mountains....

 

Get our newsletter

 

* indicates required