Tuesday, 26 January 2016

A poem by Anna Wigley


When she undressed for the bath,
the scar on her spine still fresh,
I was taken aback by the creamy satin
of her belly and breasts,
rich curves like ripe pears,
the narrow span of her shoulders,
collar bone sloped and delicate,
the gleaming hillocks of her knees
as she sat soaping herself.
I saw the woman she had been,
not mother but lover,
not frame, but picture.

About Anna
I am a writer living in Cardiff, and I have had three poetry collections, as well as a book of
short stories, published by Gomer Press.

No comments:

Post a comment