if
time did not exist, what would happen to poetry?
pi
The
Mirror Crack’d
but
what if I prefer
to only see myself
in pieces
I can feel for
the part
in my hair from
the
horseshoe bump
If I only line my
left eye, I won’t
see the umbrella bruise
under my right
At
least I can see both shoulders
I keep
a pot of salt on the dresser
Did I mention that I was
born
on the 13th?
seven after seven after
seven
something always breaks
that reflects me
there are scars enough
on my fingers
If a piece went missing
maybe I was better off
without it
Restraint
you
have asked me
to
show you
gentle
mercy
in
touch
and
I have tried
to
honour
your
one request
each
time
but
each time
I
am crouched
like
a tiger
waiting
and
I am caught
red-handed
in
the bedroom
again
The Long Dark
When
the black dog
waits
in the shadows
I
will take a pin
poke
holes in my skin
stand
under morning rays
to
create a sun inside
Shelagh Rowan-Legg (she/her) is a writer and filmmaker. Her work has been published in Taddle Creek, New Poetry, Carousel, and numerous other magazines, including an upcoming publication in the spring edition of The Windsor Review. Her short films have screened at festivals around the world, and she is Contributing Editor for ScreenAnarchy.