Mirrors

By | 1 May 2017
Ink blooms in skin

intent sketched down

in blue.

my blood presses up

against the nib. 

fingers (his) brace 

breast and knee and thigh (mine).

He checks left and right on his hands.


“I don’t want to get it wrong!”


I am touch-seen. Lined.

scars ripped and restitched

re-learned with new hands (yours) if

there is still breast and

knee and thigh (mine) for you

under iodine shadows

and broken fluorescent light,


“I don’t want to get it wrong.” 


You are glass-voiced

smile coiling into cracks

as my blood presses

up against your hand.
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Kit Kavanagh-Ryan is a queer crip poet and academic based in Melbourne, whose recent publications include works for Australian Literary Studies, Australian Poetry Journal and spoken word for David Bridie's It's been a while since our last correspondence. When not falling over, she thinks and writes about the weird and lovely ways bodies and minds work together while completing graduate studies at Deakin university. While falling over, she's still doing that, just slower.

More by Kit Kavanagh-Ryan on Cordite Poetry Review →

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