•   April 27 2016 // poetry   •

Two poems by Edwina Attlee



I put my legs in the water
they hang like hams in the larder
cool and gargantuan.

In this heat I am held
suspended. Like a specimen in a jar
or a bunch of yellow peppers.

You have put me on the shelf
and all I can hear is the sound of blood in my ears
as heavy as dumb-bells.


Enter ghost

Outside the black trees
are waving their arms to the music
tossing like salad
or girl trapeze artists
swung spinning and fearless from hands to rungs
into a gargling mass of black leaves
purple sky
everything to fall into
or sail past

Inside the radio shifts
and suddenly there you are
shuddering by the sugar bowl
back from the dead



Edwina Attlee is a writer and researcher who holds a PhD from the London Consortium. She lectures at the Cass Faculty of Art, Architecture and Design and is a Teaching Fellow at the Bartlett School of Architecture. Her writing has appeared in the Guardian, Prac Crit and Dandelion. She helps to run the reading series Sitting Room. Her pamphlet the cream is published by clinic in May 2016.