February 6thΒ 

You are naked when I meet you,
but then, so am I.
I’d been waiting months
for this occasion, after a delay
we meet a week later.
Dark hair is slathered on your forehead
unruly with gross pomade.
Your voice is a gurgle
like creaking pipework
in an old house.
Movements are hesitant
exploring unconfined space;
swimming in new air.
You are lifted up, presented:
a turkey for stuffing
and I can see your girlhood,
announce you as Ellen Marie.
You disappear to ministrations
of gowned strangers –
massage and wipe down
and return to clamp your lips
on my nipple, suckle
for all you are worth.
The pull of colostrum
connects all my nerve ends.



Sue Spiers works with Winchester Poetry Festival and edits anthologies for the Open University Poetry Society.Β  Sue tweets @spiropoetry