Poetry

Dating

Describe me the same way
all West Country want-to-be-guitar-men do.
Like a field. Bloody lush, beautiful.
I’ll try making the most of happy.

Last week
we tried to reach the water,
fishermen only.
I used to wake up early on Saturdays
before my swimming lessons
knock on your bedroom door
and walk straight in
it was broken, the handle.
I saw something in the mirrored wardrobe
I shouldn’t.
My body rejected water after that.

Pulled under a type of tide
twice I broke the doctor’s back
with my non-muscles.
A scream for Mother, not you
not you.
I told her she was just like you
that was the worst thing ever said.

Yesterday
your reflection was on West Street
by the time I spat you’d evaporated.
A stranger snaps the straps off me later
that brings us up to date.

Katie Rose Smart