Prose & Poetry

welcome home, starling

you are safe now

Mother Pearl

Mother Pearl

You are small and glossy
in the hands of the Mother, 
not quite the pearl treasure
they are so fond of - a light scum
clouding the shine of newborn
delicacy like a coat of fog. 

You washed up on the shore, 
a soft pink shell bump-bump-
bumping through the teeth of
sea and the parting foam.

You won’t come apart, holding on
with a tentacle, tightening
your grip on the Mother's belly. 

What are these limbs? 
This flesh spreading from all angles
as starfish splaying their legs. 

What is this sound? A dull echo
rises in gurgles as if drowned
in the thrashing waves of a tempest. 

The tide meets the hum of life and
unimaginable light pours, too clean, 
after the swaddled depths. 

There’s a shape above you, round
as the moon. You can’t stop breathing.

Sticky Fingers

Sticky Fingers

You're a Shark

You're a Shark