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Cooking Chicken

Pink is the colour of life

of new babies’ wet heads

and open screaming mouths.

Pink is the rose hip of a woman at the heart

of what’s between her hips

and the tip of my tongue between bud lips.

There’s the hint of pink on daisies

when they open their petals to say

hello to the birth of a new day.

But pink is also the colour of death

as the knife slides between the flesh

and separates it into food.

Pink is a suggestion of sickness when I pierce the skin,

dissect the sinews, glimpse the tint of it and turn

it to the heat to kill the pink and the possibility.

It’s the quiver of the comb atop feathers,

and the neck as it’s sliced from the body

by the executioner’s axe.

It’s the colour of cunt

and the hint in the sky

when the cock crows.


When you can say the words that are not listened to

But keep on saying them because you know they’re true;

When you can trust each other when all men doubt you

And from support of other women make old words new;

When you can wait, and know you’ll keep on waiting

That you’ll be lied to, but not sink to telling lies;

When you know you may hate, but not be consumed by hating

And know that beauty doesn’t contradict the wise;

When you can dream – and know you have no master;

When you can think – let those thoughts drive your aim;

When you receive desire and abuse from some Bastard

And treat both manipulations just the same;

When you hear every trembling word you’ve spoken

Retold as lies, from a dishonest heart;

When you have had your life, your body, broken

But stop, breathe, and rebuild yourself right from the start;

When you can move on but not forget your beginnings

And do what’s right no matter what the cost;

Lose all you’ve worked for, forget the aim of winning

And learn to find the victory in your loss;

When you can see every woman struggle – to

create a legacy, for after they are gone

And work with them, when nothing else connects you

Except the fight in you which says: ‘Hold on!’

When you can feel the weight of life within you

But know that you alone are just enough;

When you know not to judge on some myth of virtue

To be discerning, but not too tough;

When you know that you have to fight for every daughter

Even though you are all equal to any son;

When you know this, but still fill your days with laughter

You’ll have the earth, because you are a woman!