Lynne Rees

Lynne lives in Kent. The poem "At Two" below won first prize in the Second Light Poetry Competition, judged by U A Fanthorpe.

AT TWO

We stiffen our bodies like old bones
when you plant us in buggies, high chairs,

or slip like fish from your grasp
in the retreating tides of baths. You feel

the thumps of our plump fists,
our nails ragging the tender flesh

beneath your eyes. We hide small objects
in our ears, noses, or let them lodge

in the corridors of our soft throats. We scream
when you pick us up, put us down, comb our hair,

try to measure our toes. We pinch cats, stretch
our hands into the drooling jaws of dogs.

We burn up in the early hours and practice
the art of projectile vomiting

to send you scuttling for the phone.
We hurl ourselves face first into water,

sidle through the gaps between cars and watch you
pale as we back away from you smiling.

And this poem was published in Reactions 2, a UEA anthology

COLD

She likes the cold,
steps out of the house each morning
to feel the frost. When he calls her in
her hands are blue bones
translucent as skimmed milk.

At night she dreams of snow,
hers the only footsteps
puncturing the skin. She shivers
when they touch, when his breath, warm
breath trickles over her back.

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