This poem is taken from Stand 244, 22(4) December 2024 - February 2025.
Sara[h] Coleridge looks out from her Lime Street cottage window as Dorothy Wordsworth disappears down the road behind William and Samuel, late 1700s
Once I was Sarah Fricker. Samuel stole the aitch
from the end of my name, and it was like losing a piece of skin—
like missing a piece of myself.
He took my youth, my freedom. My life is laundry, muck and midden.
The bearing of children. The boiling of their clouts.
...
from the end of my name, and it was like losing a piece of skin—
like missing a piece of myself.
He took my youth, my freedom. My life is laundry, muck and midden.
The bearing of children. The boiling of their clouts.
...
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