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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