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The Egg


It’s hard to praise what makes you special,

the carved away wood of you,

 

the holes

in what was once a tree.

 

But my lover’s hands traced the shape of an egg,

an abstract concept he said,

 

this hole I’ve drilled just here, do you not see

the speck of blood that should not be there?

 

I know he polished repeatedly, layer

upon layer of beeswax,

 

rubbing it in so deeply

it still has a lustre these decades on,

 

when I can still feel his hands on my belly

as he laid it there, when I thought

 

I could die then and be happy. Thinking

of the children we never had




 



Hannah Linden

Hannah Linden’s most recent awards are 1st prize in the Cafe Writers Open Poetry Competition 2021 and Highly Commended in the Poetry Wales Award 2021. The Beautiful Open Sky with V. Press is her debut pamphlet and she is working towards her first full collection.

Twitter: @hannahl1n

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