Contributor Biography

Julie Irigaray is a French Basque poet living in the UK. Her poems have appeared internationally (US, UK, Ireland, Mexico, Canada and South Korea) in Ambit Magazine, Magma, Stand and Mslexia. Irigaray was commended in the 2020 Ambit Magazine Poetry Prize, shortlisted for The White Review Poet’s Prize 2019, and selected as one of the 50 Best New British and Irish Poets 2018 (Eyewear Publishing).

FIRST PHONE

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Children as young as you

shouldn’t have phones,

your mother believed.

Rather than admitting

it was to cope,

you argued you would

get in touch with her

during school breaks

and made her promise

to send messages.
                                                                                           How is your tummy ache?
You never confessed

it ached

because you’d locked yourself

in the toilets

while a crowd outside

took part

in a competition of papier mâché

with you

as a target.

You received

daily dozens

of tissue sculptures

catapulted

over your bunker.

The meds didn’t make any effect.                                                                                                                      
At that stage they usually started

kicking the door

and you didn’t want them

to discover you had a phone

because their insults

would have followed you

home during dinners

in front of the TV

with your family to your deathbed—

So before opening the toilets’ door,

you ended the conversation with: 

           I must go now,

my friends are waiting for me.

                  Love
 

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HOW I STOPPED HUGGING MY MOTHER

It was very easy:

after she was diagnosed with breast cancer,

the tumour claimed ownership of our embraces

and the catheter

and the surgery

and the staphylococcus

and the compressive bra

and radiotherapy

so I couldn’t hug my mother when we both

needed it the most.

I’m still so scared of hurting her

when we brush against each other

that I only kiss her occasionally.

    I’ve lost the habit.