Sophie F Baker: poet, designer, xswing dancer, writer, photographer, bicycler, crafter [& horse]

New Freckle

Like a first spot of rain on a dry paving stone, a puncture
that let the air out even after the first repair.
A tattoo of a full stop, the only one in sight of itself,
it is a keyhole to the inside it is a peephole
it is a rising bubble of CO2 in pop. A pip,
a seed of the poppy plant, an ant's footprint.
A pinprick of the night on the join between my right thumb
and the rest of my hand: it is trying to tell me something
about my mother. Or at least, some combination
of my own hands as my mother's and her past ones.
.
It is almost perfectly round
like those filtered photographs of the sun in eclipse,
and is, therefore, a representation of the moon.
My inverse, tiny moon, you are a surprising ode to genetics
on the relative constellations of my arms.
A brand new bright and circular moment in the sky of distant, faded suns.
If I shook my arms it's like you could all up sticks and reshuffle;
all breezy, cocksure confidence in your new positions,
coming up with your own mythologies
for the shapes you're making.


First published in Poetry London.