Poem: Her Wedding Ring

Her Wedding Ring

I clench my muscles.
With squelch and grunt
it clangs,
circling into the bowl.
Crouching on cool bathroom
tiles, I dip my arm into dull
yellow water, hold it in my hand
for a moment, remember
your fingers slipping and curling
into me. I towel off the ring

and place it in an envelope,
which I leave in your letterbox.

An hour later your texts: HE KNOWS
HE FUCKING KNOWS
and I imagine your fingers
sliding against the tears
that splatter your phone screen.

This poem was first published in Woolf Pack issue #7. You can buy the issue here.

Festival of the Photocopier!

Going to Sticky Institute’s Festival of the Photocopier this weekend in Melbourne? Then check out the Woolf Pack table! Issue 8 will be launched (which I have a little poem in!), and there will also be copies of ALL my zines for sale. โค 

Sadly I’m stuck in sweaty Brissie and can’t be at #FOTP2017 myself but I hope it’s a zinetastic experience ๐Ÿ˜˜