Undressing for Death
The bathroom shrieks
as I take off my skin,
peel casing to carcass.
Tonight I remove it all.
Stepping out is easy,
it’s been coming off for days.
What a relief. It does not flatter me,
I need more colour in my cheeks.
Where are my manners?
I have not introduced you
to my skin. Look at the light
through it, at the needle pricks
from lashes sticking through
the slits of limp eyelids.
You can discover me
in my hands, a lacework of veins
you can unravel.
I am woman, I am vellum.
My bones might snap
at the gap between my lungs
and where my breasts should be.
I abandon my body to you
so you can feel its motion.
*Abegail Morley’s How to Pour Madness into a Teacup is shortlisted for the Forward Prize Best First Collection (2010). Her work appears in magazines such as the Financial Times, Interpreter’s House, Other Poetry and The Spectator.
