This second skin

Filtered my breath

Warm from my lungs

Into the frosty air

Imprinted lines of 

Lips like rime on 

Glass on cold 

Mornings it inhaled

Smoke that drifts 

Like thought and 

Felt the rush of 

Nicotine in my 

Bloodstream and 

It circled my neck

Like a noose 

And hooded my 

Face so only 

My eyes saw 

What it could 

Feel so if you 

Wore it too 

You could think 

With my breath 

Exhale my seeing;

You could suffocate 

As I was choking 

No-one would see 

Behind the mask. 


Kate Meyer-Currey was born in 1969 and moved to Devon in 1973. Landscape, whether urban or rural, shapes her writing. Her varied career in a range of frontline settings has fueled an interest in gritty urbanism, contrasted with her rural upbringing and which inspired the title of her forthcoming chapbook (Dancing Girl Press)‘County Lines’ (due out 2021). Her poem ‘Family Landscape: Colchester 1957’ was published by ‘Not Very Quiet’ in September 2020. Her poem ‘Invocation’ is forthcoming with (February 2021). Her ADHD also instils a sense of ‘other’ in her life and writing. Showing this reality and evoking unheard, unrepresented voices drives her urge to write.