by Ceinwen Hall
On my small screen I replay Hannah Gadsby’s Nanette And my anger builds with hers Years back, sitting with Aunty Her busy home, for a moment, stilled We talk of relationships between women In our family, often uneasy There is silence Before our conversation moves To dark spaces Where slowly We divulge Speaking in fragments We piece together stories Until recognition Is felt in silence No woman in our family has escaped And to each, her own perpetrator(s) These men are not the exception They are the rule I first saw Nanette live With a woman, soon to be my lover Once, in bed together We lay close, no longer touching A moment of discomfort during passion Stilled us I had disconnected And left her I confessed In my past, I left my body To let it be touched She looks at me like I am broken I elaborate with stories Where my body learned What it is To be female I felt my lover quiet How to tell her The power of this space Teaching my skin What touch should be Bringing me back To my body Where I am safe And exquisitely present
Biography
A graduate of the National Art School, Ceinwen is a painter with a keen interest in feminism, queer theory, portraiture and the natural world. She works as an art therapist in regional Victoria where she advocates for social justice. A selection of her paintings can be viewed at: https://rawartists.com/ceinwenhall & https://www.instagram.com/ceinwenhall/?hl=en