Three Births

by Kate Whittington

She was born in September, attracted
Butterflies at the end of a damp summer.
Could not tolerate drought. The doctor said
That her bones were radically arranged.
This meant stethoscope, or cutting very gently.

Without women, blood
Was a ring of ecstasy. The father
Laboured to black mark
The arm, wet the dark scalp, put
Cold cloth between the legs.

If you are to be my mother,
I am the daughter of
A sheet of glass. The rumour of a child
Who foamed over your feet, or birthed
From your smooth head came monstrous.

The Poor Print

Established in 2013, The Poor Print is the student-run newspaper of Oriel College, Oxford, written by members of the JCR, MCR, SCR and staff. New issues are published fortnightly during term. Our current Executive Editors are Siddiq Islam and Jerric Chong.

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