every woman knows

how to wash

blood from cloth

so it disappears

you might see the shadow of the stain

if you know how to look

oh, we hear the whispers

secret shames, not saying names

like we know the ache of

cold hands

cracked with soap

to soak blood away

tendrils shift and flow but

no, never be new again

blood, blood, indelible and

has War been declared?

or merely a parable

as we breathe battle cries

in soft, lipstick-smears


don’t underestimate the touch

the shrill, strident, bossy, quiet, nurturing clamour

of those who ken


to out blood

because we know how

know when,

oh, me too

minor, major, doesn’t matter

the wound sits

dark, underneath

and maybe it’s time

to win a battle

crack silence, a shot


take a little ground

do not, do not, underestimate the power

of those whose life is bound

in blood and shadows

do you feel it? The rising awe, the gore

I can taste blood. Blood! I can taste

a shift. blood


I can taste…




Added to dVerse open link night


Xennial warrior princess


the way we circled them


empowered women of the 90s

not spice girls, not riot grrls, just us

yet to realise our mistakes

our eyes

greedy for a piece

our price


were they ever afraid

did they even notice?


our prey

as we slipped through the net

of history

fishnet-clad wrists

slicing away

traces kicked over

bottles smashed

tracing an ankh – life!

into teenage behinds

in black

we didn’t know to be afraid

relieved or excited

only much later

thought of the danger

nothing bad happened

we got away




Apparently we’re called Xennials now – us people born between 1977 and 1983. Seems to fit with the generation who would have watched a certain TV show about a feisty fighting princess …  Another friend called us the ‘last tactile generation’ – I kinda liked that.  

Missing You


I miss her funny fingernails

The way her hair sits over her ear

The angle of her head when she laughs that shows the gap in her teeth (you don’t really notice it other times)

Her slightly protuberant eyes

Slim fingers that look like they could bend all the way back

Soft brown freckles that dapple her entire face

Non-symmetrical stains on her teeth and a hint of lazy eye (both add to her prettiness)

The skin-tone mole to one side of her cleavage

The way the makeup collects in the corners of her eyes because she laughs until the tears come

Nose rings – when will we give them up? Circles and sparkles

The lines around her mouth that have deepened but her skin looks finer

The red patch of excema on her arm, half hidden by a sleeve

Smooth, thin hair in a shiny black ponytail with a sparse fringe

Curly, thick hair that needs an undercut to be manageable

Eyes of aquamarine, true blue, dark blue, liquid brown, chestnut, greeny hazel

The slight lisp, enhanced by a tongue piercing

Her little feet in wedge heels. So busy!

Sometimes I think her hair is blonde, other times quite brown

The thin-etch of her teenage tattoo

Steady gaze from behind sparkly spectacles (but they aren’t glitzy)

Her compact competence

Have I ever seen her without eye makeup? Otherwise her face is bare, but it looks right

The angle of her chin, somehow like a lizard (not ugly)

Strawberry blonde hair, cornsilk, straight


The cluster of her earrings

Her chubby cheeks: that expression when she grins but looks a bit unsure

She wears eyeliner flicks always. Except if she’s really tired or has a cold

Her gums above her teeth

The pout and curve of her lips, no longer pierced but you can still see the divot

A sibilant emphasis when she says certain words

Those teeth

Her nostrils

Her voice. All their voices. The words they use. Their accents

I ache to be in the same room for an hour with even one of them

My beautiful friends