Sonnet for My Fat
Took my pain, buried it in buttercream.
Unboxed, licked off the top, Masticated
each grain into saline, let my bloodstream
drip-feed membranes their acid-fat. In bed,
I dream of fingers probing pleats of grief
tissue. They peel back the metabolized
shame, slice slender layers dyed in relief
upon glass plates. Awake, my thankful eyes
dilate with blood made rich from my lipid
deposits. I mould handfuls of regret
like batter for the deep fryer and skid
my hands across my chest collecting sweat.
I take a sip, glad for this feast, this meat
that frees energy directly as heat.
Zeeshan Choudhury is a facilitator, writer and founder of East London’s Queer Writer’s Circle. They are currently collecting queer disabled folklore in London’s East End, and running the class Writing to Uncover the Self at St. Margaret’s House in Bethnal Green.
The dandruff of a girl’s bedroom
consists of tiny pink erasers,
safety pins, shirt buttons and the odd
butterfly clip.
Blue lichen that once clung
to the shiny backs of pop stars
blooms on the wall.
While the cupboards hide
unwanted gifts
like the useful art folder
(still in its plastic)
or the snazzy handbag
from a middle-aged aunt.
A thorough clean
and the next occupants
need never know your love
for American TV shows
but I might take this cushion
with its Lisa Simpson face
to remind me of your optimism –
eternally aged eight.
Emma Lara Jones lives in Felixstowe. She was shortlisted for the Bridport Poetry Prize (2023) and has published poems in various journals, including Pomegranate London, Propel Magazine, and Strix.