A tadpole
Christian Donovan
A tadpole of reality squirms
and grows in my abdomen,
swells to a sphere. I need
a midwife to void my womb
of raw facts: truths that harass
my uterus, truths sharp as razors
that slash embryonic limbs.
I need reverse-memory foam
to deaden the echo chamber
of evidence, keep me in denial.
Christian Donovan
Christian Donovan retired about two years ago from work as a guide at Carew Castle in Pembrokeshire, Wales and now has more time to write. Previously she was a dairy farmer’s wife, a Welsh language tutor and cycling fanatic. She has had poems published in anthologies by Yaffle Press, Bournemouth Writing and, online, in the Ekphrastic Review and Ink, Sweat & Tears.