One Poem Only is a daily ritual: one poem, center stage, just for now.

after Ella B. Winters

it doesn’t take much to see

through skin, through blood, through bones

i’ve etched poems in each rib

this cage can only hold so many stories

see how this poem is stuck in the marrow

see how this poem is caught in the hollow

do i have to break these bones

for you

to read me

More from Toni Young ↓

• @toniyoungpoems on Instagram
• @toniyoungpoems on Substack

And now for the poem this was written after.

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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If you’d like to support the show, Substack and Patreon members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook.

Feed yourself poetry every day.