Custody*

I swallow the death I chose.

Back up it comes to taste

of bile and rotted things.

Keening in my chest,

it does not drown out.

 

Now, she does not smell of my home.

On alternate Saturdays it

vibrates through me

like base in the sweaty smoky crowded room.

 

One day it will whimper

soft as the lullabies

she asks me to sing

as night time starts to show.

 

I’m reminded of her face — red.

Her tears — confused.

As the years of anger bubbled up

culminating in one dual scream between us.

 

You clutched her

As though I was to be protected from.

I wonder if she will forget.

I wonder if she will forgive.

 

I wonder how I ate my heart.

Raw. Beating. Bloody.

 

—

*Custody: n 1. guardianship; protective care. 2. Imprisonment. 3. A compromise.

4. Giving away half your heart with the hope you can keep the rest.

—

This poem was originally published by Burning Eye Books.

Mairi Campbell-Jack is a poet and writer living in Edinburgh.  Her poetry and fiction have appeared in The Scotsman, The List and Octavius.  Her double pamphlet of poetry This Is A Poem, dealing with post-natal depression and separation was published by Burning Eye Press.  She has an MA in Creative Writing from Edinburgh Napier. She works in Scottish politics for a UK charity, is a single Mum, and autoimmune.  She is currently working on a poetry graphic novel (artists with capacity, talent and commitment welcome to get in contact), and a creative non-fiction book.  In her spare time, she enjoys embroidery, photography and TV.