I come from a word

It’s time to put the kettle on and settle down for a wee read. Julie Gilmore is a fellow student on Glasgow Univerty’s MLitt programme, who normally focuses on writing for young adults. She says that she’s not a poet, but I disagree. I think there’s an inner poet in all of us.

I come from a word – by Julie Gilmore

I come from a word.

From a universe that is thirteen point eight billion years and six days old
in which a woman listened to an angel,
and a man was killed by a tree
(this happened twice).

I come from technology.
From glass
and nine months in which three became one
and a mother’s womb cut open by men in white coats
(they hurt me, too, but that was a mistake).

I come from experience.
From a red-brick, open-plan, co-educational,
then a bigger place where people were broken for fun
and old friendships died easily
(post-mortem: ongoing).

I come from tears.
From loneliness
and nights alone, talking to myself, wondering,
and praying, that the dark would pass
(it lingers still).

I come from the realisation

that I have survived.
I will face the next day
and the years that follow
(one word at a time).

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