Adrienne Wilkinson

Adrienne Wilkinson


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

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.