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Nymph by Laura Brinson

sensitive to a subtle change
the nymph slips from birth water to dry earth
feels the icy rush of air against her body

pushed on by irresistible instinct
driven higher
to a place of changing
elongated leaves spiral in the breeze

anchored to bark
twisting in a drying skin
wings folded stickily to her body
thorax muscles ripple

trapped in the hardening carapace
a labour obstructed
six x-rays exist in hospital files
cephalopelvic meat on a photographic plate

breech baby and me
wings now a leaden cape
a well of foreboding opens
instruments clatter on a tray

pumping fluid into a tracery of veins
with the energy of desperation
slipping from me like a dark spill
the icy rush of air on a fragile new form

---

Laura Brinson is Melbourne based. She reads, writes, recites at open mikes, gardens, and sews. Her sewing room, in which she makes wedding dresses and costumes, catches the morning sun. Her poetry is reflective.

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