Words: Carys Brown (She/Her)
Murky eyes like ponds reflecting an orange sun
Didn’t belong in the pale moon craters on my face
So I pinched them and dragged them out,
And put them aside, until I could find their place
All was well for a brief moment
Until I saw the peachy hill beneath my chest
Was scattered with coarse dark weeds
So I dug the skin away, uprooting that unruly pest
But then, looking down I saw stony ridges on my feet
Were cutting up that mottled ocean of legs and calves
So I found the weakest point between them
And split them into halves
Yet after this I observed that thin fingers like flaky granite
Looked silly on top of the sweaty falls of my palms
So I plucked them off one by one
And had a moment’s rest from my qualms
But my eyes rolled across the floor
When they saw the birds nest on my head
So I brushed and shook and scattered it
Until all the birds fell dead
And the more I looked the more I found
Something else was sticking out,
So I carried on shifting and dividing and cutting,
Recording my reflection throughout
And surely that was me, a twitching mass of cells dressing the ground
Perhaps the most tangibly beautiful body that had ever been found
