Megan James
stasis
everything that’s wrong
it happened here
all mythology taught me
was the inevitability
of rape
blue
just like distance
land & sky & sea
blurring middle vastness
of each other—
where does she end
& I begin—
our shared lessons—
these earthly cycles
it was not her fault
ancestral déjà vu
hand of another
to neck-circumference
wreath-like choker
[Unseen One]
flowers are bisexual
even the loss of those flowers was a wound
& I found taste
for the sharp exactness
of a cunt
now I am older
half of Auxo’s age exactly
split her through the middle
only know her by half
in certain seasons
& Thallo darling
this is where you enter
buoyant as a thought
Auxo—
now I want to ask you how it feels
to grow another
the moment when a feeling enters the body is political
the fetus is a “tumour”
I started dreaming
as she had
of pastel bibs
& hungry clinging
having reached the same year she did
when I flourished
gentle float
inner chamber
started seeing signs:
a pomegranate
pummelled to the pavement
seeds spilling at the edges
so many dying fertile eggs
cycles come
wicked red reminder
another month spent
empty
the body tells me in a tiny voice
scrolled up in the DNA
[Knowing One]
each was once dependent on a woman
my want
a keening
wistful throbbing
intravenous burning
skin to needle
all of blood
& pain
& permanence
in the same way that illness can rack the body
baby fever is painful all encompassing
the irony
that as Auxo’s body overheats
mine grows ripe
nature has so few coincidences
in my sleep
I bore her child
a surrogate to my mother
it had my eyes
legs of thunder
Thallo—
this thing with cycles
chain reaction
they thrive on repetition
with all the same mistakes
& tricky circles
not a single corner
to stash a secret
shame blood spread
drug infused
mother polluter
grief gut stutter
vomit / piss / shitty splutter
& a stomach full of fractures
livid fistulas
between us would create another
& the scar to prove it
I have a secret sickness
disease instrument of divine wrath
blossoming in the plasma
an ugly surprise
disease could be gratuitous or it could be deserved
that I do not want for you
& your untouched red
unblemished so almost pure
disease is the will speaking through the body
a form of self-expression
Megan James (she/her) is a queer poet. She writes on issues surrounding feminism and the female medical body, drawing on her personal experience as a sufferer of chronic autoimmune illness. Her work has been featured in The Hellebore, Molly Bloom and Ache magazine, amongst others. Find her on Twitter: @MeganHJames.