Ella B. Winters
Oubliette
My grief is nothing
like your grief.
Don’t tell me you know
how it feels,
you understand,
it gets better.
I am betrayed by the months
of promise, the swell
of my blue-veined
breasts, my body
shackled to ghosts
of hope, refusing
to accept its emptiness.
When dawn is far,
my dreadful eyes search
the corners of the barren
room for a face
that never existed,
sinking fingernails
into cold sheets
of absence that grew
from thin air.
My grief is nothing
like your grief.
I have no interest
in sitting with you
in a musty village hall,
exchanging stories
of sadness. I take
no comfort in your
loss. This cell
was made for solitary
confinement.
like your grief.
Don’t tell me you know
how it feels,
you understand,
it gets better.
I am betrayed by the months
of promise, the swell
of my blue-veined
breasts, my body
shackled to ghosts
of hope, refusing
to accept its emptiness.
When dawn is far,
my dreadful eyes search
the corners of the barren
room for a face
that never existed,
sinking fingernails
into cold sheets
of absence that grew
from thin air.
My grief is nothing
like your grief.
I have no interest
in sitting with you
in a musty village hall,
exchanging stories
of sadness. I take
no comfort in your
loss. This cell
was made for solitary
confinement.
Ella B. Winters (she/they) is a double immigrant, currently writing from the South-East coast of England. She is a social worker, and her creative work often explores themes of identity, memory and belonging. Her poetry has been published or is forthcoming in The Aftershock Review, Wildscape, Full House, Black Iris and others. She is an associate editor at Shadow & Sax.
Instagram: @ella.b.winters
Bluesky: @ella-b-winters.bsky.social
Instagram: @ella.b.winters
Bluesky: @ella-b-winters.bsky.social
