Читать книгу The Unmapped Woman - Abegail Morley - Страница 12

You thicken in me in the hottest June for years.

A soft fist smudges the wall of my womb and at night,

when it is already too hot to sleep, I watch your

elbow soar like a sail and imagine you journeying

upstream, skin pinking at a confluence of rivers,

body uncertain, smirching the bank. You’re waiting

for liberation, foetus shaping in liquid until you

come adrift on a crib-shaped island with the map

of life crumpled in the tiniest palm I can imagine.

I see you unroll its tide-worn edges years later,

when you’ve waded with my handmade limbs

through life’s inky waters. I picture you with my

youthful face and in early morning light, hear

for the first time how you pronounce your name.