Women; Life me, mama
Core thrusts itself
through pale crust, cools,
solidifies
in the cupped hands of its maker
who cuts and shapes the cold
ugly stuff, burnishes
the surface to a glowing
sheen of browns and greys,
smooths it into a woman,
a mother, a child
and all our tomorrows.
Robin Thomas
‘These pieces looked to me like they had surged up into the light from below, being perhaps the first human beings.’
Robin Thomas is a poet and flash fiction writer and is a long term resident of Reading
