Ann Cuthbert





She doesn’t bleed now.
The chemicals put paid to that –
staunched the flow, tracking
down those cells, their waving
feelers tearing out her hair,
their bird-claw trail flattening
her veins. She’s mummified –
the outer shell’s the same:
head, shoulders, hips, thighs
but underneath all’s changed.
She limpets on, though, wound
crusted over, iron-oxide old.




Ann Cuthbert writes poetry and short stories. She has had several pieces published, on line and in print. She is one of Darlington’s Bennett House Writers and, with the Tees Women Poets group, enjoys performing her poems for live audiences.

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