Adrienne Wilkinson
ragwort
you step in and lay your body on the unmarked space
you will be entered here
and here
the helpful woman says
it will be uncomfortable
but it will be done minutely
table legged you are
open you are
and the white of the stomach meets
the light of the operating theatre
knife handled you are moved
from consciousness into another
time darkened space
do you remember the first time you had sex
your knickers graze the moon as they wash down the river
a rubbing of an eclipse
the wet of the log digging into your back
do you remember when they pushed it in, the needle
that’s my blood!
that’s my womb!
you come across a plant covered in black and yellow caterpillars
they live on the plant because it is poisonous
it is your job to pull the plant up
you are guilty as a scorpio
blood-handed
the limpness of supple leaves and you ragged
the white of the stomach below meeting
that dog-handled space
ADRIENNE WILKINSON is a poet studying in Manchester, UK, and working as a PA to disabled queer women. Her work has been published in The Interpreter’s House, and she is currently writing on sexuality, trauma, class and disability.