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Enough by Antonia Taylor


Your daughter tells you
all constellations are arbitrary.             
She worries about your potential. 
The headline says the oceans choke 
on planes. A new war started holy —
it’s been pouring since you were small
& now, you’re out of mascara.
Hurt your knees with the same prayer,                 
forehead against the sycamore. 
You buried God here; when 
you came back for him; they’d cut it down.
Trip on the doorstep’s air;
feel how breathing catches you out.
Take only what you need & sell
what you can’t hold. 
When did the piano become 
such an extremist? The only way 
you can sit opposite your friend 
is if you look away. How are you  
a woman with three dead friends?
Four, if you count Elena. Brush a stray hair 
from the desk – another & one more.
Notice you rake your ribs in your sleep.
They discounted your ancestors till Monday
to tell you who you are. Nothing  
of your mother, but the fingernails
of five empires scraped clean. 
Yesterday, irises swelled the yellow, 
you wondered how to get to enough —
to empty the day, 
return the star you bought
across the dark metal counter. 
---
Antonia Taylor is a British Cypriot writer, poet and communications expert. Her work has appeared in South, New Contexts, Blood Moon Poetry, Marble Poetry Mag and Indelible. She lives in Reading, Berkshire and is currently working on her first collection.

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