Poetry, Spring 2024

There are many ways to view a body

Image to show formating of poem as two breasts. Text reads: ‘Oh NO mummy, they fell down!’ said my three-year-old in the bath pointing at my nipples, all stretched and slumped like two tiny chipolatas, pink pellets sagging slowly onto my small boobs like empty zip-lock bags after the picnic is over. On a good day I think, they did good! - these once-swollen power houses pumping nectar to my babies, my glorious womanhood oozing just, everywhere, all milk and flesh and life brimmed to breaking point, all luscious, lascivious and pouring forth. On other days I hide them hurriedly, these sad sacks hung out to dry, wonder about those perky Insta-boobs, all caramel skinned and tightly cradled in tangerine bikini triangles, flesh bursting with invitation (perky, but not porn, promise) and wonder if that’s really what my husband would like. He says he likes my sweet little once-udders, still touched-out, still hidden under a bra during sex, my one-year-old still sometimes lunging at them laughing, teeth-bared, my three-year-old still sometimes flicking their falling heads in the bath. But they grew my babies, these baps, these boobs, these breasts grew my babies with these wonky woman hips, this prolapsed pelvic floor, these sags of skin rolling over a collapsed core, these stretch marks, these pounds I can’t shift, this blood I still shed, this tender back, these battered bones, these nipples that fell. This whole body. This holy, holy body.

About the author:


Originally from Oxford (UK) Jo Matthews is a freelance writer and copywriter living in Amsterdam, the Netherlands. Her poetry and writings have appeared in Popshot magazine, Acumen, Fish Anthology, Prairie Fire, The Rappahannock Review, and The Times (UK), among others. She was recently shortlisted for the Creative Ink Poetry Prize 2023.

She is a mum to two small daughters who are simultaneously keeping her young and ageing her rapidly. Her professional website is www.jo-matthews.com

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