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3 poems by Rosa Jones


it’s raining 

the grass stretches across


everything, newly 



while rolling out my thoughts I look 

at where the light goes, memory


of your gaze catching

of my being 

a special occasion,                a shock fever                    

a momentary                     lapse of strength


on your part. I’m out now,

in nature where you can’t touch me

and god,





everything is so still here, 

it just stuns me.




I had a white dress once and a summer

of necking back pink things and getting

very wet, my skin tight and attracting

little bits of grass.

There are poems in me that spin like coins

I am a hybrid swan, these days

I look at my dresses, clean and glowing

like teeth in the dark.

I take a sleeve of one

as if courting it.

When did I learn to care like this,

immolate myself and call people losers

call men losers, have them put their fingers

in my mouth so I can’t say oh well


The sleeve is torn and I tease the rip

I look at how the fabric melted

under the moths.

I hold my old world to my face and try crying

find I can’t, go down to make dinner.

Spring poem

I was doing a great job of being graceful 

I got flattened once or twice by circumstance

but that’s what happens,

you look at the cherry blossoms and sometimes 

they are pink stars, snags of beautiful 

candy-dyed hair from your mysterious youth

other days you look at the cherry blossoms and they

are nothing good to you, wilting pancreases

suspended above the ground, casting

horrible shadows on the pale road.

That’s all drama. The fact is,

words have been uncommonly hard to listen to lately. That doesn’t

mean they aren’t worth saying, but it’s likely I will have to ignore you.


Rosa Jones is a writer living in Glasgow. Their work has been published by

Gutter Journal, Ache, SPAM, Banshee, Zarf, Abridged, 3 of Cups Press and

Burning House Press. They co-founded the Glasgow branch of the Small

Trans Library, a lending library and social resource for trans and non-binary



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