New poetry by Kerry Hudson

An Economy of Letters


After the phone call my heart turned to blackened honeycomb.
With every sore beat it rained Chernobyl snow down on soft unprepared insides.

Breathe became a baby.
Struggling for enough air to scream out the indignity of helplessness.

Loss. Fuck.
F o u r letters,
brutally succinct.

It’s the shock.
Drink dark tea. Three sugars.
Let the steely sweet coat my tongue.

Limbs curl small,
jammed between my stove and a wall.
A face tilted towards the enduring sky,
too relentless for my eyes to assault.

It chastens.
I become still and mute.
The economy of those letters,
just a small part of the fullness of life.



* Kerry Hudson writes short stories and poems. She is currently working on her first novel in East London in a pile of books and shoes called home.

One comment

  1. Anonymous

    I love the line “Breathe became a baby” – so well-phrased and powerful. Great poem, Kerry, I hope to read more of yours here.

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