Alopecia
by Jen Campbell
1st Runner Up in Poetry London 2022 competition
 
i
 
The first creature that falls from my head
is a hedgehog. I stand still
in the shower and hold it --
 
                        then drown it.
 
All pins and needles. No nature
photographer, I spill out
of the shower and hurl it
into the toilet.
 
                        I flush it,
 
just my animal
heart remaining.
 
 
ii
 
For some time, I think
I dreamed it
 
                       — but
 
then the animals
begin to breed.
 
They shed across my pillow,
undress on every jumper, scatter
 
naked when the lights dim
and their skin becomes balloons:
 
a field mouse, a hamster,
a stoat — tiptoe across
my throat and
lick my scarecrow scalp.
 
 
iii
 
Before long, I am a petting zoo.
 
I would say that I mind
but I know that pity is awful
 
and so, I carry treats in my dresses
and I learn to whistle beast-song.
 
 
iv
 
If I close my eyes and
brush my hair, I swear
 
I can hear the
accidental animals
falling out of me:
 
            a nightjar
            an owl
            a woodpecker
            a lark.
 
 
v
 
These days I own
more hats than pets.
 
Two dozen
tiny nests, perched
above my wardrobe
 
and me:  a magician,
​
              a conjurer                   peering at a mirror.
 
All wide-eyed in this ark.

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Click here to read the poem 'The Hospital Is Not My House', winner of Spelt Poetry 2022 competition

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