AT THE MUSEUM | HAPPENING
by Lucy Hurst
30/05/2020 | poetry |
AT THE MUSEUM
my menstruating womb throbs when i look at his bones in an intoxicating heat blood churning out of my body, ready to jump-start the life back into his i breathe up against his glass like an incubator in NICU
there’s an intimacy in the pure brutality of his death; the hammer that did him in would’ve been this close & personal those restless bones jittering about just for me- whatever happened to sleeping when you’re dead? perhaps i could smash the box disassemble him stash him under my jumper & run off with his bones i think he’d be happier sleeping in the Ouse or decomposing in my back garden
i can see his features in full detail i imagine his muscularity & breadth the way he’d swing an axe through a man’s spine i want to lean in and caress his big bony head but i doubt he needs patronising further if this is what is required to be remembered then i’m ready to be lost in history
HAPPENING
stare at the refrigerator light blink frantically & have a party of one; somehow this won’t be the most futile thing you’ll do all week that’d be the guilt. with this crisis incarnate government advice is, we should all take on a nun-level celibacy so we can collectively stop feeling fucked over i say bring back the previous crisis one slightly easier to ignore we all know the economy will be alright in the end someone will babysit it for a while, breastfeed it till it looks better the banks will put their big-boy pants back on, & stop pissing themselves things will be fine as they always are. my mum tells me that new rules mean only 6 attendees to a funeral ‘there’s only 7 of us,’ she says ‘so we’ll be fine’.
in the latest online quiz you can find out your chances of surviving the upcoming weeks question 1) what sacrifices will you make? it’s such a tory thing to say as if we haven’t been sacrificing everything for years they gave the flood plains to landlords & look where that got us. i read my horoscope as an attempt for normalcy: death by boredom sun bad memories rising thank God for friends moon
about Lucy (she/her/hers)
I am a 22 year old poet, residing in Lincolnshire. I’m
currently studying for an MA in Creative Writing at YSJ, and
specialise in queer and disabled poetry.
twitter: @lu_cyhu