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SARAH MAGAHARAN

I asked the laurel tree and the laurel tree replied

Before I knew my body, it was malleable

Dips in flesh like cupping palms, gathering water,

Trickling over what should have been mine I always liked my

Bones, the branch split of my shoulders, the stacking of my spine

And the hairy gorse what I could grasp My body was carved she

I did not mind, I did not know

I could be something else. But else found me

In the reflections of jet

Ponds, my jaw, willow’s hair cut to the nape,

The gaps between –

The straight trunk of my hips – a catkin moustache above

Cupid’s bow lips – and they were mine.

I didn’t know how to love a body

Until I lost it again and again.

Gave into its seasons,

Didn’t try to understand, just

Let the force of a body

Live, take root, harden and scar

Like bark – knuckle knots in

Wood – spinal discs into

Tree rings –

Blossom and sometimes seed.

Sarah Magaharan is a poet and writer from Hull, Yorkshire, based in Birmingham, UK. In her writing, she enjoys delving into the borders of ourselves: what lies between animal and human, between discomfort and desire. Much of her work engages with the natural world, sometimes with fantastical or mythic twists. During the day, Sarah works in marketing for a bookseller. At night, she (sometimes) performs at the brilliant Birmingham poetry scene. She has featured as a headliner at several open mic nights in both poetry and short-form prose. Right now, she keeps on creating bird poems, and is building a pamphlet to house them.

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