Monday, 28 October 2013

A poem by Chaucer Cameron


I did not spend close evenings crouched up in candlelight, 
sifting through luxury layettes with chocolate picot trim.  
I did not crochet cardigans, sew anything by hand, 
pull draw-strings through hems, check catalogues for cashmere 
with merino woollen blend. I did not dream in sets
of a dozen muslin squares, bleached clean, starched flat, 
stacked tight inside deep drawers.

I did not keep you up at night. A lack of salt, desires for lettuce, 
coal, chalk were just imagination, Braxton Hicks contractions 
nothing more than dehydration, a lyric that repeats in loops 
                                                                                               un-break my heart.  

I filled my days, undistracted by elevated oestrogen 
or constant itching soles and palms, treated these 
as if they were like any other uninvited guest. 
Bribed by dandelion and burdock, yellow dock 
and beetroot, I drank,  
                                                                                               I entered talks,

negotiated landings, spoke fluent body language, 
practised flung back shoulders, uterus up and out
on show for just a moment. Then slow reversion 
to a stoop as daylight filtered into threads of navel pink 
and grey. Nine bands of soft reflection, sheened on skin, 
a glimpse, a thousand bony scutes. 

Chaucer Cameron has been published in a number of anthologies, the Quest Gallery Catalogue, Haigaonline, and had poetry and monologues performed at The Everyman Theatre in Cheltenham. Chaucer has worked collaboratively with a film maker to produce a thirty minute poetry film collection, There is Nothing in the Garden, which screened at Cheltenham Poetry Festival 2013 and at Gloucestershire University. Chaucer’s video poem, Sloat Thrit, was screened at the Arnolfini as part of Liberated Words II Poetry Film Festival 2013. More information: 

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