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Evie Calver: two poems



methods of self-transfiguration (to satisfy a craving)

1.

each stitch unpicked, fingertip needles, fur peels like fruit skin; scraped out soft stuffing is twenty years too worn – the doorbell has fresh wool for me.


2. black to blank, sliding scale, these antique lead scratchings persist as rubber dust. now to stray from shades of greyscale

necessary: a sweeter colour

to trace grooves left over.


3. all our eyes sting, bright white old bulb, holes scorched in its shade; today, i will change to a warm yellow – please, come in – admire me.

*****


i can't help but rewind a year

when we were still new and walked as one body 

with blue fingers in the stinging cold 

at least i had your hand to hold

even if i couldn't feel my own. 

the wind was blowing 

with such force that the river warped,

swelling like our breaths; it was so alive and yet 

when we wiped our eyes we realised 

the water was perfectly still. 

now my eyes fill again, 

threatening to spill and there's a chill

that claws at my skin, piercing

the hand that still doesn't understand

why it must brace the cold solo 

through this winter that is passing too slow – 

it is not even the end of november 

and i wish that at 12 o'clock 

i didn't remember 

that today is your birthday



Evie Calver is a third year English student at King’s College London, where her poetry was recently featured in an Intersectional Feminism exhibition. She is also the creator and host of a student-focused mental health podcast called "Can You Hear Me?".

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