2 Poems by Millie Guille

How to Make Jam

Take an orange.
Dig your knuckles into the skin.
Your mother has taught you
to be afraid of bruises.
Ignore her.
Stir to forget his fingerprints
on your sister’s face.
Sugar to taste.
Accept that you will be your mother.
Set in jars.


Knowing Our Mothers

You think how hard it must be
to know our mothers,
how strange it must be
to feel their pleasures—

the red thorns in your chest
are from her roses
your pains are variations on hers

how arrogant we have become
not knowing we are our mothers,
having loved the same boys
told the same lies

when you look in the mirror
it has never been your face,
just as it was never hers.

Millie Guille is a twenty-two year old British poet, who placed third in the 2012 Christopher Tower Poetry Prize. Her work was shortlisted for the 2014 Remarque Poetry Prize, and has recently appeared in The Cadaverine Magazine. She will begin an MSt in Creative Writing at the University of Oxford in September. @MillieGuille

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