Today’s choice

Previous poems

Gail Webb

 

 

 

Something Missing

He cuts. I lie still, teach myself
to dream of St David’s Bay,
seaweed strewn on incoming tides,
surfers slice big waves in half.

He butchers with hammer, saw.
No nightmares, though he says
it’s possible-you could wake
in the middle of the operation,

stirred by loud banging. I advise
him to knock me out good
and proper. We both know the truth,
he will take something from me,

cut flesh away, file bone, move
kneecap, sever nerves, tendons.
He promises to replace pain
with a super joint, a hero.

I come round, crying, smell
of blood and piss. The body knows
muscle and bone are gone.
For months, messages arrive

in my brain, something’s missing.
He does not acknowledge,
it’s part of my DNA now, this loss.

 

Gail Webb is a Bridport Prize short-listed poet. Gail facilitates creative writing at Maggies Centre and in her local community. Her current work focuses on grief, resilience, climate crisis, human connections to the natural world.
Insta: poetry_cocktail

Jenny Hockey

That’s when she went to ground,
after she disobeyed, painted her plastic tea set
red, hidden away in the playhouse they built
down where bindweed draped

Nick Cooke

If when you go to the barber today
He asks if you’d like him to ‘tidy up your ears’,
Think of all the wildest sprawling vegetation
That will never be tidied, or trimmed, by clippers or shears,

David Thompson

Scrolling through my inbox I hold down
the shift key, select all and mass delete
briefly feel the repose of the therapist’s couch.