The Fisherman’s Bride

The Fisherman’s Bride

(after GMB)

January. I hung a brass chain

at my belly. He tugged it, spilt salt-water.


February. He rowed me with tranced oars

through star-dotted waves.


March. He birthed me

with his tongue, silver gouts of herring.


April. Drunk, hollow-eyed, we

took our skulls at dawn to a sweet green gap.


May. I stole his shadow- self

from a luminous sea-pod.


June. Bathed his wounds in whisky,

then licked them.


In July I stopped mermaid babble

with sea-poison!


August herrings jostled like corn,

uncaught silver.


September sunset slitting the day’s throat.

We saw!


October. Harvesting his come

in my mouth and cunt.


November. A lit fire, spit of rain.

Flensed his lip skin with my nail.


December. He carried me to the tide again,

bore my weight. All night, one cold star stared.


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