Becky Cullen




Bent Double

Day 1.
A summer of the same relentless heat starts up, with no respite.  What does take the edge off mean?  There is an ounce of fog.

Day 2.
My legs are odd. There is no taste to food. The ball that was unravelling starts to rewind until its taut cords thread me through, and my jaw
is on display in a museum case, remarkably white.

Day 3.
I can’t remember yesterday. I walk all the way home before I realise I meant to catch the bus. I prop my head up with one hand.

Day 4.
I notice lots of things that aren’t foil on a filled tooth.  A small fishing fleet glistens in a cove.  My glass orb fills with fireflies.

Day 5.
No more images, no claps of colour, no spikes. I lie, tollund, with a round hole in my skull, not sure if my brain is seeping out or seeping in.

Day 6.
The day is nagging to be filled. A hum and buzz, the slap of skipping, low drum thunder.

Day 7.
I’m losing interest in diaries.



Becky Cullen‘s poems have recently been published in Be: and Assent magazines. She studied English and Drama in Sheffield, and has since produced some convincing performances as a teacher, waitress, au pair, florist and HR manager. Becky lives in Nottingham and is completing a Creative Writing MA.

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