Wanda Praamsma : Two poems

day four

postpartum bodies

of water      receding

backwards

into      a lake    a love    a swamp      

the sheaths     of skin      & under          

delicate     ripe     responding to catcalls

& cortisol      clots of blood curdling   

out      excretions so big    

exclamations      tumbling floor-ward     

nipples     raw     red         the belly   

deflated      warmed

&     stung      

reflection

once-taut seams

split      rip      

selves       unknown    

beyond my own       time aches   

through the vaginal walls      & I am

backward        awkward    

crêpe-paper thin        imaginings     

like skin        maligned   

inside my mind       dual-spun       

vast tundra of undissected

memories       no truce

not tight      not loose

Wanda Praamsma’s [photo credit: Bernard Clark] first book of poetry, a thin line between, was published by Book*hug in 2014. Her poetry has appeared in Ottawater, eleven eleven, Lemon Hound, and The Feathertale Review. She lives in Kingston, Ontario. Read her blog at swallowwriting.ca