11: Open - Nov 2021


The orchid in flower,
neglected just enough.
(Hold tight 
to this mystery.)

My cardigan is grey,
plain envelope, a
Goodbyes still rend me:
unwelcome art, unacquired skill.

As a child I clung at bedtime,
wanting someone beside me.
For years, I wrote
‘each other’
as one word.

Change is constant and
partings inevitable,
wrenching and severing
part of our travels.

But I weep at their leavings,
these astonishing creatures,
sprung from my body.

The thought of it undoes me,
grey and unravelling
like my sweater.

-Tanya Fenkell

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *