Windthrow by Zoe Karathanasi





Zoe Karathanasi is a Greek-born poet who currently lives in Paris, France. She has an MA in Poetry with distinction from the Manchester Metropolitan University. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in various online and print publications, such as Ink Sweat and TearsThe Interpreter’s HouseTears in the Fence and Under the Radar. She is working towards a first collection. 


























The tail end of a hurricane

toppled and severed you in the forest

where I find you, unlucky wooden gastropod,

wanting to swim with dust in your eyes.

I pull you closer, although your smell deters me;

pelting my palate with freshness and mould,

as if the two were possible in one gulp.

This is what I should smell like, if a storm

unearthed me, in my gown of yellowed lace,

this would be my response to the gust of cold air.


Unearthed, you bear the mark

of a difficult birth: a fell cut baring the bone,

the expression not yet blotted out by an halcyon sea.

Your tiny hairy arms and legs, no longer mobile,

no longer waving, puberty set adrift.

Your mandragora scream sunk into the ground –

caught in my mouth: you’d like to be washed out

by the sea, come back as driftwood.

Separated from you by a fine thread

of breath, I am here to help.


Zoe Karathanasi