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Jane Williams

Out You Come


I could write a poem about your face

and when you read it it

will be like looking into a mirror

for the first time

I'm not sure what happens next

Maybe you leave your husband

turn out all your guilt pockets as you go

call back to him matter of factly

that it was your hot-flushes

that finally burnt the house down

Your shoulders square off

and you grow six feet across the chest

You might shave your head

or become a priest

waggling your mighty finger

at the devil in all of us

Or maybe you just find the furthermost point

and stand there

until the first wind

splits open your seams

and out you come

first one wing

then the other
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