Dublin 2009: The Cod Liver Oil Spinster

by Susan Abraham

In a Dublin cottage, a bawdy lady writes her poetry. An old maid, she is cantankerous and her heart, a foiled tin. She wears a roseband on her head, a bandage on her chin and begs your trapped skin in her bed. Yet how many kisses did she miss, her tongue mistaken for a forked hiss. She writes now of mystical things. Of lovers and orchids and strange romantic swings. She writes of sonnets crossed and lost in the Seven Seas. A fanciful comic, she splashes tonic over scent and her whispers, boiled in Cod Liver Oil , are sold for a lost English pence.

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2 responses to this post.

  1. Love this! 🙂

    Reply

  2. Hi Karen, I moulded this prose after a poet I didn’t like… a hyper neurotic lady full of herself here in Dublin. A perfect route to get her out of my headspace. 🙂

    Reply

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