the sapphic chronicles

Meryl Streep would be proud of us 

We existed as girls, no 

space between our respective bodies, girlhood 

into teenage-hood afraid of ourselves, stolen 

kisses in my bedroom at my parent’s house, conservative 

decor lining the walls because they were always very strict; I 

look at her now like I looked at her then with 

yearning and aching to reach out and touch her, my 

hands shaking as I try to stop them from pressing against her arms, her 

bare chest blooming, underwear 

decorating growth, small and existing, we 

never knew about Hollywood romances as girls but 

we know about them now and we 

are one. 

orange segments 

I’m healing. I know this because I 

can eat orange segments without thinking about you. I know this because 

even though your control felt like a kiss 

nothing 

feels better than her lips. Trauma 

lives in the gaps between my fingernails, scrapes 

year-old bruises off skin like scab, sinking 

into her voice feels like redemption. 

When I thought about you between my legs I’d flinch. 

When I think about her between my legs they part wider. Women 

know my body like it’s their own and 

lesbian 

is who I am. 

Not yours anymore, I am mine alone. 

Her fists don’t look like pain, only 

a promise. 

I tell her to kiss me. 

I want everything that isn’t you. 

memory foam 

when delphine said to cosima 

“I can’t stop thinking about that kiss” 

I felt that, 

it’s been eight hours and I still can’t stop touching my lips 

I shiver when I remember your taste 

god I wish you could have stayed 

I could kiss you for days 

my lips have never known such need 

I’m falling for you and 

I can’t stop myself because 

adoring you feels like the easiest thing I’ve ever done, 

I can still feel your teeth on my tongue 

thank you for asking to kiss me 

I want your hands in my hair again 

I want my hands on your face again 

pulling you closer, 

I want to lay down and watch ten episodes of grey’s anatomy with you again 

I just want you next to me 

you smell like soap and suggestion, 

promise and protection, 

walking away from your coach felt like going against instinct 

I miss you  

Lucy Pettigrew is a twenty-one-year-old she/her lesbian poet from Nottingham, UK. She has been writing poetry since she was sixteen and her work now mainly revolves around lesbian themes, coming to terms with the label ‘lesbian’ and the joys and difficulties of wlw relationships. She has been shortlisted in a couple of competitions, published in Valley Press’ Beyond the Walls 2020 anthology and on the Dark Poets Club website. Some of her poetry is due for publication in the Tipping the Scales literary journal, the third edition of Femme Fatale Gals magazine and on The Teeming Mass website.