Precipice

the rounded boulders of your shoulders

the ridge of your ribs

all smooth edges and hard angles

a landscape under my fingertips          

          nudging, poking,

at aging skin

          gauze thin

barely containing

i scoop you up and it feels like

i'm barely holding you together

like i'm barely holding it together

i lower you gently and reach for your blanket

tucking you in

covering any exposed skin

and in that moment,

you're back at the beginning

an infant, swaddled,

shoulders to toes

i hold you close

                        then let you go

Betty Powdrill is a poet based in Yorkshire, England.
A sucker for sunshine, a hot bowl of pasta on a cold night, and buying more notebooks than she will ever be able to fill, her work captures fleeting moments, deep-seated memories, and the quiet spaces in between that can go unnoticed.
She drafts in pencil, messy and urgent, then presses her words into permanence on her vintage typewriter.