Tag Archives: Becky Cherriman’s My Paisley Quilt

Becky Cherriman: Two Poems

Becky Cherriman

Becky Cherriman is a Leeds-based writer, performer, single mum and creative writing facilitator who writes in a variety of forms. She was commissioned to write and perform an interactive children’s story at The Rotunda Museum in 2007, and was shortlisted for the 2009 Dorothy Sargent Rosenberg Award for poetry and the 2009-10 Fish Short Story Prize.
Becky works regularly for various organisations including the Workers’ Educational Association and the West Yorkshire Playhouse and is one of the facilitators for the Ilkley Literature Festival Young Writers Group. She has performed her work and traditional tales and ballads both solo and with other artists live on radio and at venues such as Seven Arts, Stage @ Leeds, Stockton Riverside Festival and Poems, Prose and Pints.

She is currently applying for funding for a one woman show which she is hoping to tour next spring, seeking an agent for her first novel, Yellow Brick Roads, and working on her second novel.
She had lived with the wolves
till she was three,
they said,
though to her time
was measured only by the period
she was with the wolves
and what came after.
To them the wolves were
unfathomable beasts
because they paid homage to the moon
with their song
and tore at flesh with their
precise teeth
rather than cold lengths of metal.
But to her it was them –
the men who stared
at the flowering teenage girls
with the hunt in their eyes –
it was they who were the beasts.
So she narrowed her eyes
when they spoke to her
and once,
when the odiferous one
had touched her throat,
she had turned
and made a hole in his cheek
with her precise teeth,
and she was glad
that because she had
lived with the wolves,
because she spoke few words
and because of her
precise teeth,
they never stared
at her like that.
My Paisley Quilt
There are worse rapes than this.
He did not threaten my family
or beat me with his fists;
he simply prised open my thighs,
shut his eyes to my tears.
There are worse rapes than this.
He did not bind me with Gaffa tape
or hold a knife to my throat;
he simply ignored me when I said no,
every time I said no.
There are worse rapes than this
in the comfort of my own bed
under my favourite Paisley quilt
by the man I love.
There are worse rapes than this.
Visit Becky’s website.