by Jess Williams

It is midday and I go to re-wild myself.
From the confines of a spreadsheet cell and a filing system
I roll out of the air conditioning and into the air.

Alone-but-not, for full of the cacophony of song and hum 
and click and strum, I wade into moving water. 
I become a giant, above notice for the boatmen skating past.

The crisp white shirt billows,
letting the breeze whisper secrets
to my naked body, shaking out my fur.

I walk barefoot in the woods, 
possessive of the dirt-encrusted skin 
that is hardy with the articulation of use.

Sometimes I climb, crimping fingers against knotted places.
Later, typing the words of others, I savour the ache, 
the strong grip on bark pulls me up through that hollow space.

I return as a creature. 
I am full of the scent of poetry, a feral thing in an office chair.
I swim through the afternoon to emerge relieved on the other bank.


Jess Williams | @jessandotherstories 
Jess Williams lives in Cambridge where she writes down poems she finds in the hollows of trees or behind the sofa. 

Support Dear Damsels

Words are empowering – not only for the women who write them, but those who read them too.

Join our Patreon and help us continue to offer an inclusive and welcoming space for women to come together, share their words, and get a resounding response back.

Sign up to our Patreon