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A star was born

The screams became louder and louder

And he didn’t arrive until the 25th hour

I can’t believe it I feel so proud

He looks like both of us but he’s got my mouth,

When I first found out I was in  shock

But how worth it he was, such good looks,

A good boy hardly a sound

Two days early and over 8 pounds,

Skin to skin he lay on her chest

The very 1st feed had been off the breast

By Christopher Woolvett

NOTTINGHAM POET

Cold water sea change

Unending and bland as the day I was born

And my mouth twice as dry,

With withered digits, buried legs,

And two good front eyes, flat.

But you can tell I love you by the words I say…

Why there is no where to go but up.

You can tell by my tone.

You can tell by the time I spend spend spend

With you.

My God, look at my hands…

Look down at my hands,

You know,

If I were a more sensitive man

I could run around, wild, and we could fix this

City,

By God, it could be a paradise.

My God, look at my hands

And how the blood pours out,

What is it that all this means to me?

What is that it needs from me?

But there I stand in the kitchen, knife in hand,

A silly Jew, slating the beef,

Draws out the blood,

Degenerates the essence

But I’ve said that before.

What good it does…what good it does.

Drawn,

Talk about drawn,

Thin,

Why I can barely feel my hands and feet, up to my elbows

Up to my knees,

Numb…

A phantom pain, maybe, but what good is a memory?

My God

My God,

Is this really me?

A thousand miles down,

Alone, at the bottom of the sea?

Is this really it,

What does your mother tell you?

Is this really all the bother?

A scrap of dried cloud/cloth

To smother out the rest?

A dried up utopia,

Just add water

Brine

Soak it overnight.

Is this really me?

A thousand miles down,

Alone, at the bottom of the sea?

Jesse S Mitchell

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