"Womb Words" by Vanessa Marsh

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Time of the Month

From the wardrobe I fetch
An ancient red dress, ancestral,
Hear the moon's victory howl,
Too familiar.
Hot camomile and a cold cure -
(The packet is metallic).
Nature's disinvestment always chills,
Twelve dozen bleedings:
There is candytuft in the garden,
A mark on my peach knickers,
And Neville is too sensitive for sex.
"I'm scared of blood."
Richest velvet, cascading, spreading like disease,
Through the purity of the the towel by capillary attraction.
A sprig of heather for the pain,
Emily Dickinson and hot carrot soup
Made by Richard from a tin.
The red dress, ancient, worn,
Rough against my skin but welcome,
How many thousand women have touched the fabric
And bled?
 

12^th March 1990