(crossbones)

by SJ Fowler
through mud made yellow we walked
her and I
   I do not remember the poems
russ Thomas, I recognise
                I recognise the sound, poems
crossbones
          a moon of thighs
          claims the norsewaterboatman
      through the snow we walked
      & now thighs are recalled
                                                   white
          pregnant, the skin stretched
        with the promise
             I no longer see the skein of my
                                                  dogged pock
             in the shining tin of the stretcher
                        she was carried over mud & snow
SJ Fowler is a postgraduate student in philosophy at the University of London, works for British Museum, and has published poetry in Poetry Monthly International, 3am, Vice, and Parameter magazine. He currently lives in London.

© 2010, SJ Fowler