 | Arwen Bird Biography: Arwen Bird has been passionate about writing since she learned to read. As her
reception teacher noted on her school report, "Arwen fancies herself as a
writer". She is currently studying English and American Literature and Creative
Writing at the University of Kent and loves it because she gets to read and
write solidly for three whole years (and then some more - hello Masters!).
Arwen's work has been included in Night Train and she was shortlisted for the
2008 University of Kent T.S. Eliot prize. She intends to learn as much about
people, life, the universe and everything as she possibly can, doing whatever it
is she ends up doing, by writing about it. |
Birdclaw
Listen:
the storm,
the dead beehive,
the sea, a grey flag
torn out behind
red cliffs,
trees drip
fat like
hung pigs,
I wait
like eight long years
of blade to flesh,
the rain’s one finger
on my neck.
My arms are slabs
of hard red skin
carved up like pork
with crackling,
the roasted hairs erect.
Emergency
Medical Unit
like
pale children’s
portraits,
In
the dim ward
the only noise
is
my exhaustion,
endless
retching.
Early morning
one
old man is wheeled in
who cries
some water -
His wobbly lips
He sees his cup
and cries
please -