Shownotes
A daily reading from One Poem Only—a quiet space for a single poem, read aloud.
Ugly Bones by Ella B. Winters
Ella B. Winters
Behind the dusty radiator,
green splashed like blood
spray in a B-film, from that time
when you decided
to paint our bedroom
in the middle of the night,
I keep my poems
hidden in a puce manila file
so unremarkable, it chameleons
into the background, pink tongue
unfurling to swallow my words
into the shadowy crevice.
Mostly, I don’t want you
to see them, as though,
in the starkness of the early
hours, when our walls
demand another change,
they might reveal my ugly
bones through the translucent
skin. But sometimes, I forget
they’re there, as well. Imagine
leaving them behind when we
move on. Who will I be when
unsuspecting tenants pull me
out word after word like a magician’s
string of endless gauzy scarves?
How will they piece my naked bones
together? What colour will they
paint the room?
More from Ella B. Winters ↓
- @ella.b.winters on Instagram
- @ellabwinters on Substack
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Poetry reminds us what matters. Thank you for listening.
