the barnacles stick under
my fingernails and belly
sometimes i find small white worms
filmy, shining
under my skin,
it does not matter
they touch me anyways
they pretend to their wives
they do not like the slime or the slip
i do not know why men lie to me
they always have callouses
on their hands
i like the rough ball of worked fingers
on my too-soft stomach
they say
with meat in their voice
that i am a delicacy,
pale and white
they swallow me saltily,
so easily
they kiss my forehead
say my hair is so long
and beautiful
my eyes are so blue
i tell them it is because i cry all day
and they leave me alone
my siren rock is covered in snails
gull shit, eyelashes
my own filth
i sing mist to small grey fish
they swim around me all day
i tried to kick them away and
my rock flooded with eyeballs
loosed in death and ocean
accusing me of all the things that i have done
Anna Walsh is from Mullingar, and holds an MA in Creative Writing. Published in the Honest Ulsterman, Bohemyth, Headstuff, and others, she is currently working on her first book. She co-runs The Gremlin.
Twitter: @annaw999
More work by Anna Walsh
Tel: 028 7126 6946
Email: hueditor@theverbal.co
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