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Leaving tongues

You wrap my fingers in the leaves, wintergreen, 

twisting psalms between loose teeth. 

 

Bound, I swear to something sharp 

as my father’s nose, your mother’s mouth. 

 

You harvest my handship

before the bruising of the midrib,

 

as the kingfisher breaks

his bill on a bone-eared stone. 

 

Minnows scarper upstream, no longer monarchs. 

Beneath our casuarina tree, you are 

 

deadheading asphodels. We watch

white tongues curdle by our feet. 


ABOUT THE CONTRIBUTOR

is an 18-year-old sixth form student from London. She has placed in various youth poetry competitions, including the Foyle Young Poets of the Year Award in 2019, 2020, and 2021. She has a special interest in postcolonial identity and is currently developing a manuscript. 

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