Today’s choice
Previous poems
Samantha Carr
Unexploded Bombs
You became obsessed with nucleated red blood cells when you peeked through an
aperture window at your liquid, viscous nature. You became obsessed with maps
after an unexploded bomb exposed a Second World War timeline fault sleeping in a
garden in your city. Several results on the pathology printout are marked with carets.
The Bomb Book marks the location of dropped devices with sticky red dots.
You don’t have a garden, so you revert to the sanctuary of one of the few places to
survive the Blitz, the cobblestones of the historic Barbican. These are pebbles and
sandstones taken from the riverbed. Edges eroded by centuries of foot traffic, horse-
drawn carriages and even the advent of the modern car, something it was never
designed to sustain. Outside the Admiral MacBride, these stones have
been puked on, fought on, slept on, bled on. How many memories remain in
the sand or have been washed away with the Mayflower Steps and castle
fortifications to rest on Sutton Pool’s harbour floor? Are nucleated red blood cells
dangerous? The GP says it’s not something we normally look at. The internet
says they’re rarely present in healthy adults. The Pathologist says the results should
have been suppressed. You paste your discoveries into the Bomb Book.
Samantha is based in Plymouth, UK, where she is a PhD Creative Writing candidate exploring the lived experience of chronic illness and the healthcare system through prose poetry. She also formerly worked in the NHS as a nurse. Her work has been published in several places, including Arc, Acumen, Ink Sweat and Tears, Mslexia, and Room. In her spare time, she enjoys experimenting with surrealist art. She can be found on Instagram @samc4_rr, and on Facebook @samantha.carr.9275.
On the tenth day of Christmas, we bring you Jenny McRobert, Angela Topping and Maria C. McCarthy
The tree makes its way into the garden
looms at the window, a disconsolate ghost
On the ninth day of Christmas, we bring you Caroline Smith, Bec Mackenzie and David Keyworth
After the lunch he gets his folder
of Christmas games.
On the eighth day of Christmas, we bring you Em Gray, Abigail Ottley and Emma Simon
And now you’re half a spin of the world away,
somewhere I’ve never been, like Narnia . . .
On the seventh day of Christmas, we bring you Sue Burge, Erica Hesketh and Max Wallis
Once there was nothing sweeter than snow
On the sixth day of Christmas, we bring you Amy Rafferty, Tim Kiely and D.A.Prince
We pick up where you left off, searching still,
choosing random cards from a dealer’s deck:
twenty-one crows in a night-time tree,
deep within the dark, with all that chatter
On the fifth day of Christmas, we bring you Paul McGrane, Kevin Reid and Helen Evans
As regular as Santa Claus, she’d call
around at Christmas, the next-door neighbour
and my Sunday school teacher, Mrs Williams.
On the fourth day of Christmas, we bring you Leusa Lloyd, Lydia Benson and Charlotte Johnson
It is always Christmas in the loft
On the third day of Christmas, we bring you K. S. Moore, Kate Noakes and Rachael Smart
Picture this:
little witch girl
in Alaskan wilderness.
On the second day of Christmas, we bring you Gill McEvoy, Rachel Burns and Cindy Botha
On the way to the registry office it snows, flecks of white like spittle hitting the steamed-up bus windows, I worry the petals from my wedding posy.