Birth Plaice

It’s only now I understand how

you gave birth to me twice.

Once,

in the salt shade of Osborne’s cockle sheds

Wheedling me out like a periwinkle while

your husband crammed battered fish

and chips between his  barbels.

And again, twelve years later
Your flesh become the mud of empty tides

This time pushing me far 

from the harbour of your thighs

‘It’s sink  or swim little shrimp.

Sink or swim.’