Six weeks after

I could taste it for weeks after the birth –
the metal rust, wet earth, smell of the birth

I bled mountains of glistening rubies
so the walls of our house swelled with the birth

I waited in bare blue hospital rooms
to see if I was well after the birth

I invited round friends who brought roses
to swap for tales of the hell of the birth

I walked birth’s damp beaches, jumped its high waves
picked through the salted shells of the birth

I breathed in her milk sweet skin, warm and new,
until I broke the thick spell of the birth



Zoe Ellsmore is a new poet writing about the environment, relationships and women’s experience.Β  She’s based in South East London and works as a digital editor in the charity sector.