Lou Grimberg

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Spices and boiled vegetables, all in one big pot—
The French windows licked with a layer
Of condensation. My eyes burn. I stir,
And sit back on the sofa, in the softness of his arms.
We talk about the story I wrote last year:
The very young woman standing under
The sky: a giant sheet of white hung
Between the buildings outside the Royal London Hospital.
Her insides feeling like an iron fist squeezing them.
A giant pad between her thighs; thick
With blood, and nothing to remember.
I say how ironic is it or maybe I am a fortune teller?
One of his tears lands on my cheek and
My whole body heaves with ugly sobs; between
My thighs, nothing to remember.
I stand up—I still have to check on the soup.

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Born and raised in France, Lou Grimberg moved to the UK three years ago and began writing in English. She teaches languages, and lives in London with her partner and cat.