My surgeon says she will make of me Sashiko,
use ‘little stabs’ & patch the worn cloth of my belly
with tender decoration. She traces a line;
sternum into the softness of me. It is,
I imagine, a soothe for a sleepless child.
Her finger crescents my navel, preserves
the umbilicus, as if it is needed
for another nativity. In truth,
she will birth from me three fruits,
each over-ripe & too rich for this body.
Together, we know she cannot simply repair
windfallen flesh, but must burnish it with thread
honeyed from apple blossom, returning me—golden.
First published in ‘The Bone Folder’ (Drunk Muse Press, 2024)
“Despite having reached the horizon of peri-menopause, and what I thought was a reconciliation to the experience of not having given birth, the experience of having my uterus and ovaries – and the tumours that maligned them – removed, brought an unanticipated wave of grief. I felt the loss of these reproductive organs intensely, given that they had become the sites of new, unbidden forms of growth. In the midst of this devastating para-birthing, the tenderness of my surgeon, who, when we met, traced her finger around my belly, assuring me the curve of my scar would respect the presence of my belly button (that embodied memory of my own birthing) was a great comfort. Such a seemingly small acknowledgement of my humanity felt like a kind of mothering in itself. In using the metaphor of Sashiko, ‘little stabs’ – the Japanese craft of strengthening worn cloth with decorative embroidery – I hope to honour the restorative power of this kindness”
Cáit O’Neill McCullagh began writing poetry in 2020. ‘The songs I sing are sisters’, her Saboteur Award-winning debut pamphlet – a collaboration with Sinéad McClure – was a Dreich Classic Chapbook (2022). Her debut collection ‘The Bone Folder’ was published by Drunk Muse Press on 24 July 2024. Outrunning a recurrence of cancer, diagnosed in 2022, follow her here.