Among the many striking elements of Jane Ayres’ rich, multi-faceted poetry, none is more apparent than her use of imagery, the intricate dance that effortlessly changes lead from description to personification and back again. In her latest collection, my lost womb still sings to me, this back-and-forth exchange moves slowly and fluidly through her retelling of a major surgery and subsequent life change, and it lands not softly but defiantly. It is a blistering ode to the art of life, whether that comes singing or screaming, and does not shy away from its seasons and their constant, inherent shifts.
From hidden in plain sight:
she wears the cloak of invisibility well a woman of her age if
the cap fits they say
perhaps that’s why you favour
rougerage/vividpinkneon/viole(n)t disguise over silver ash
made volcanic to be noticed
seen
not lost in a feathered tangle of word-holes spilling suns &
daughters
From another hot flush:
&
despite my debt to the suffragette sisterhood
despite the feminist fight
despite myself
I capitulate comply & simply wait for the blistering
heat to subside
let it pass (again)
one day this volcano will erupt
On the surface, each piece is a chapter in verse, the story of the sometimes-hell that is womanhood. In truth, it’s a reflection of everyone who has examined themselves and been surprised to see someone they didn’t recognize; or, equally as likely, someone else that they do.
From eggs:
when I look in the mirror
I see your face
me become you become me
splinters of maternal love jagged beneath my skin
the comfort & fear of inevitability
the future foreshadowed
no more eggs for me
While teetering between acceptance (because what choice do we have?) and raging against the cruelty of aging, implied or inescapable (or both), this work is meant to resonate. Beyond that, it serves as a reminder that we don’t have to lose ourselves fully along the way.
From care taker / private property:
lacerations / the memory of a thing
more real than the thing itself
sniffing at the way the light still
shines / stringing the lines
watching your cadence
drawing a veil
i am empty
but my hunger
grows
my lost womb still sings to me is available now through Porkbelly Press:
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