After it was over, a speckled bird
hatched between my breasts; spread its bloodwet
wings on the bed; brushed my bare thighs . . .
Sweat siezed my pores. Cottonsoft, the dark purred
clawdeep in me. I lay with ivies
vining around my head, tiger lily
tales in my ears, fingers needling air
like lace. Lovers traced my cheeks with care.
Sharp, I heard painted saints beckon me
from Bruges’ Basilica. “Our Lady…”
I tried to pray but only moans & shrieks
escaped. I felt myself still & freeze.
Then, the man trussed me by the feet;
kissed me, called me his lorikeet.
Skendha Singh completed her Masters in Writing Practice & Study from the University of Dundee. Myth & history are lasting preoccupations. She also loves animation and superhero films.
“The poem was written as a response to an assignment on Fair Field: How to Write Like a Medieval. The Poetry School course helped fire new synapses in my brain, and hence this new response to the lively and layered Wife of Bath.”