JEN CAMPBELL
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Three poems from 'The Girl Aquarium' by Jen Campbell

The Exorcism of the North Sea
by Jen Campbell

On Sundays we sing.
Ghost birds. You lead us
to the southern cliffs
with our Girl Guide tents.
The sun is ours.
We have verses to prove it,
tucked in the hems of our
midwinter pockets.
We are snow globes.
Along the rows of
whitewashed caravans
young boys peer
out and whistle if
their mums aren’t home.
Everything is seen through
murky glass. The sea lurches.
Someone should save
the soul of her. Lukewarm
and watered down,
holding all the girls
in bathing suits.
We stretch out our
carol sheets
and hum like bees.
Picture

The Doll Hospital​
by Jen Campbell
(NB: for formatting reasons, this poem is best viewed on a desktop)


First, they say, you must think of the shape.

Hold it.

        The question-marked spine.        
        The colour of the eyes and if you look closely
         the fox-tongue-rabbit-heart-barely-there grin.

We each make half.                Carved.
Kneading grey the texture of calf tongue.

I lick the edges, fold an envelope ear
and listen for wings. Moth or magpie or dragonfly beats.

My mother claimed I had changeling feet
dancing in dirt water        pulling a ragged doll
through fairy rings when she summoned me home for tea.

I cup my palms.

        Little fishling.
        I wonder if we should roll her hair like starfish.
        Watch it flicker the colour of raspberry-plum.

We hum, take turns.              Pirouette
her little body so her organs align marbled planets.

    Hush.

​How ridiculous that we should be allowed to craft,
and mould and hope             as we coat her in a water glaze

                                                   then bake.

In the dying light we rest and wait.

Up north, they say, if you cover their limbs in hospital white
you might later dig for victory.

So we pull on our shoes and step out into snow.

    It is a long road.

We bury our porcelain children in the flickering woods.
Our soiled hands                         tangled in juniper roots    
and you hand me a crown         fit for an unmarked country.

Netted
by Jen Campbell

And then they caught us.
Eyes shoutin like they was radio.
Me hair aal up in their fists
like a cloud. It’s long now.
Down t’ma navel – cause then aal
the black is like a cave what I sit in.
What I can sing in. W’voices hidin
in aal the corners
like I’m radio, too.

And then they caught us – me ’n’ Caitlin.
We was dancin our way yem.
Fairgrounds in wor eyes
blazin out like dancin lions
and me stomach a stinkin jellyfish
aal zip-zappin around.

And then they caught us
when we was whisperin.
And their fingers got me mouth.
The hiccoughs of the ocean
aal drippin down wor blouse.
And the sounds was gannin manic
like we was trapped underground.

And then they caught us.
Said we was danger.
Said our queer souls was a well --
lookin at us like w’fishes
what swam but should’ve drowned.
Yet, I think me soul’s a lighthouse
and I cling t’Caitlin’s arm.
Our voices singin
from aal the corners
like we’s mermaids in the dark.

Find out more about 'The Girl Aquarium'

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