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14th July, 2023

Friday Poem – ‘My body tells me that she’s filing for divorce’ by Kathryn Bevis

Both halves of a cracked egg shell with a yolk between them. The yolk is in the foreground of the image.

This week’s Friday Poem is ‘My body tells me that she’s filing for divorce’ by Kathryn Bevis from her debut pamphlet Flamingo. This poem is shortlisted for the Forward Prize ‘Best Single Poem 2023’. See the full shortlist on the Forward Prize website.

My body tells me that she is filing for divorce

She's taken a good, hard look at the state 
of our relationship. She knows it's not 
for her. The worst thing is, she doesn't tell 
me this straight up or even to my face. No. 
She books us appointments with specialists 
in trip-lit rooms. They peer at us over paper 
masks with eyes whose kindness I can't bear. 

They speak of our marriage in images: 
a pint of milk that's on the turn, an egg 
whose yolk is punctured, leaking through
the rest, a tree whose one, rotten root
is poisoning the leaves. I try to understand 
how much of us is sick. I want to know 
what they can do to put us right. She, 

whose soft shape I have lain with every night, 
who's roamed with me in rocky woods, round 
rocky heads. She, who's witnessed the rain 
pattering on the reeded, the cut-glass chitter
of long-tailed tits, the woodpecker rehearsing 
her single, high syllable. How have we become 
this bitter pill whose name I can't pronounce?

Soon, she'll sleep in a bed that isn't mine.
That's why these nights, we perform our trial
separations. She, buried in blankets, eyelids. 
flickering fast. Me, up there on, no––wait–– 
/through/ the ceiling, attic roof. I'm flying, crying
looking down. /Too soon/, I whisper to her warm 
and sleeping form. Not yet. Too soon. Too soon./