Aches & Pains: On Period Poetry

period day

always grounds me

like a bomb

grounds a city

it’s a demolition job

during which no thought

gets past the gates

of attention

just my body

and its pain

that is all

again & again

*

I have said it before and I will say it again, on the record this time: period poetry is something special.

It is raw and unfiltered and real.

It is my favourite kind of poetry write, and if period poems were named and published more frequently, I bet it would be my favourite kind of poetry to read.

I’m not certain why. Perhaps it is the unsolicited reminder of our own fragility, or the sudden waking up of the senses, or the sheer impossibility of writing in full sentences when you are being surreptitiously interrupted by pang after pang of pain… but poetry feels like the only thing I can write when I’m bleeding.

Perhaps it is the sheer impossibility of Writing In Full-Sentences when you are being interrupted by pang after pang of pain, but poetry feels like the only thing I can write when I’m bleeding.

Usually when I write, I edit. I edit obsessively and continuously.

I am thinking of where I’m going, and how to get from here to there.

I am trying very hard and I am trying most of all to mask that effort with flowing language that is easy to read.

But when I’m bleeding, it is like my vision narrows and focuses on the singular sensation of the body in this moment. I cannot plan, I cannot edit, I cannot write in the usual over-thought way that I do on my best days.

I am sweaty and achey and bloated. I am a ball of filth and I have no interest in being proper or presentable or least of all, perfect.

No. I am just a motley collection of body parts connected to a nervous system that is torturing me with sensation.  

And arguably, this is the best way to write a poem.

To be clear, I don’t mean to contribute to the terrible myth that one needs to suffer to make good art.

I fundamentally disagree with all kinds of thinking that push artists not to seek help or encourage them to live mentally and physically unhealthy lives for the sake of their so-called torture-powered creativity.

But periods – in my body at least – are a natural and chronic reminder of physical pain, of the movement of time and its illusiveness, of the lack of control I have over almost every aspect of my experience, and most importantly of how it is possible to survive these realities. 

When I am writing a period poem, I am just trying to get through this moment.

I am trying to capture the feeling of being here with pulsing, tensing, numbing hands, and a mind like a TV in a thunderstorm.  

Maybe if I do that, if I find an image or a sound that fits the sensation, it will have less power over me.

Maybe if I write through the feeling, the present moment won’t be so overbearing and claustrophobic and inescapable. 

Maybe if I write for long enough, the pain will pass.

Maybe if I write and someone else reads it, the aches and pains will have been worth it. 

*

That is my experience at least, I recognize it may not be everyone’s. Nonetheless, if you’d like to try this for yourself and share your afterthoughts with me, here is my best recipe for a period poem:

ingredients:

that first bite of blood

a pen held in an aching hand

a clenched jaw

and enough pain to make you forget about perfection

also, a hot water bottle on your belly

a cup of cinnamon tea with honey

and a candle smelling of lavender

instructions:

stir one part embodiment, two parts attentiveness,

a singular love of language,

and a sprouting survival instinct over the stove until simmering 

don’t think too much about the words, or their order.

breathe often and deep even if every movement hurts, this will help you locate your survival instinct if it becomes misplaced during the process

write like you’re running for your life.

write until tears arrive, making sure to treat the words you find with kindness.

you’ll know your poem is done when:

your jaw is a little less clenched, and you no longer feel like crying 

or, when you take a sip of your long-cold cup of tea and notice it is absolutely undrinkable.

*

I would love it if you told me about your period rituals, your favourite period poems, or period poetry experiences.

Or, (if you don’t happen to experience periods) your aches and pains and how you survive them.

Thank you for reading.

Until next week,

Proud-period-poet.