The heather is dried and biting like the mess of metal on a scourer, but I love her anyway. She reminds me of the reeds in the surrounding marshes; floating on the surface to onlookers, but planted firmly below. Envious of her solidity, I crunch and squelch my way round the intestines, breaking ribs with my boots and picturing myself in the belly of the whale, swallowed entirely.
Kate McCaughey (she/her) is a Northern-based poet currently completing her MA in York. She is most interested in human nature, and how we respond to ourselves and the radius of people and places around us. In her spare time she is an editor for Ergi Press, and can usually be found listening to queer guitar music and drinking a big cuppa. You can find her at @katealicemcc.
