stdClass Object
(
[ID] => 21084
[post_author] => 23
[post_date] => 2020-09-28 11:00:59
[post_date_gmt] => 2020-09-28 11:00:59
[post_content] => is empty
of children, ripped cardboard,
happy endings. A flesh
rimmed cavern, sinews strung under
the heart like harp strings. Tanks
rumble under my feet
when the wolf talks, gutter-pulsing
in skin. I lie on my back & pretend
this hollow is a spaceship,
primed for a red sky. The acid
river foams down my spine.
My grandmother lies
next to me, holds a fistful
of crumpled tulips. Her glasses
perched on the stomach bed.
She knows this cage by touch; knows
the lost girls from the woods
whose ghosts whisper when I sleep.
I imagine the wolf in front of the mirror,
scanning his fur for scratch marks.
I imagine he’s tired of fighting.
Tired of being a storyline,
clause, augury for a beast
choking on its blood.
How many girls sprawled on
a story finale, colourpop
double spread, smiling in their
gas chambers. How many girls
in the bellies of machines
that pretend to love them.
[post_title] => The Belly of the Wolf
[post_excerpt] =>
[post_status] => publish
[comment_status] => closed
[ping_status] => closed
[post_password] =>
[post_name] => the-belly-of-the-wolf
[to_ping] =>
[pinged] =>
[post_modified] => 2020-09-28 11:28:13
[post_modified_gmt] => 2020-09-28 11:28:13
[post_content_filtered] =>
[post_parent] => 0
[guid] => http://poems.poetrysociety.org.uk/?post_type=poems&p=21084
[menu_order] => 0
[post_type] => poems
[post_mime_type] =>
[comment_count] => 0
[filter] => raw
[meta_data] => stdClass Object
(
[wpcf-published-in] =>
[wpcf-date-published] => 2020
[wpcf-summary-description] => This poem is commended in August Challenge #2: Fairy Tale Poetry on Young Poets Network. This challenge was set and judged by Foyle Young Poet Meredith LeMaître in 2020.
[wpcf-rights-information] =>
[wpcf-poem-award] => Commended, August Challenge #2: Fairy Tale Poetry
[wpcf_pr_belongs] =>
)
[poet_data] => stdClass Object
(
[ID] => 20988
[forename] =>
[surname] =>
[title] => Emma Miao
[slug] => emma-miao
[content] => Emma is a commended Foyle Young Poet of 2019 and the third-prize winner of the Artlyst Art to Poetry challenge on Young Poets Network. She is commended in August Challenge #2: Fairy Tale Poetry.
)
)
stdClass Object
(
[ID] => 20988
[forename] =>
[surname] =>
[title] => Emma Miao
[slug] => emma-miao
[content] => Emma is a commended Foyle Young Poet of 2019 and the third-prize winner of the Artlyst Art to Poetry challenge on Young Poets Network. She is commended in August Challenge #2: Fairy Tale Poetry.
)
is empty
of children, ripped cardboard,
happy endings. A flesh
rimmed cavern, sinews strung under
the heart like harp strings. Tanks
rumble under my feet
when the wolf talks, gutter-pulsing
in skin. I lie on my back & pretend
this hollow is a spaceship,
primed for a red sky. The acid
river foams down my spine.
My grandmother lies
next to me, holds a fistful
of crumpled tulips. Her glasses
perched on the stomach bed.
She knows this cage by touch; knows
the lost girls from the woods
whose ghosts whisper when I sleep.
I imagine the wolf in front of the mirror,
scanning his fur for scratch marks.
I imagine he’s tired of fighting.
Tired of being a storyline,
clause, augury for a beast
choking on its blood.
How many girls sprawled on
a story finale, colourpop
double spread, smiling in their
gas chambers. How many girls
in the bellies of machines
that pretend to love them.