ella b. winters
Terramation
Today, the sun taps at the edge
of the world, like breaking in
to a soft-boiled egg, warmth ready
to ooze from the core.
How can I know myself on a day
that suddenly goes on forever?
The lake perimeter fizzing with life,
green-smelling and unexpected,
the pale crocus bodies
pierce the callous earth
like a resurrection, announced
by relentless gulls. And I
slip in the stubborn mud,
soft and unctuous as bone
marrow, which pulls me in, coats me,
pulls me under, until I am a part
of this callous earth, too, sun-warmed
crocuses spear through me.
Ella B. Winters (she/they) is a social worker, researcher, and writer, living on the South-East coast of England with her partner and their sausage dog. Her poetry often explores themes of identity, memory and belonging. It was nominated for the Forward prize and the Pushcart prize.