Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Charlotte Van den Broeck

Bulls head

Ever since I was born an enormous bulls head rages
in my mother’s belly. It’s on a rampage in her empty womb 

creating scars in the fallow mother. Sometimes  
she doesn’t quite recognise me, which is troubling 

because at one time I fitted inside her perfectly. Luckily,
according to the astronomical constellation of Cancer

I’m pleasure seeking, reliable and creative. She finds this consoling,  
an article of faith connecting amniotic fluid to the universe.

Whenever we had chicory baked with gammon, I’d get the crust of cheese.
All of it. Because I’d asked for it.       

The love I know is dished up from a casserole, 
the two extra helpings on a full plate

that second biscuit hidden in the yellow pud.
This is a typical feature of motherly conduct:   

‘Stuffing ones young’.
In exchange for the void I left in her, she wanted me full and round.       

Then came the morning I announced the arrival of two small breasts.
The news broke her spirit for days.

Eventually she handed me a bra,
emblazoned with Hello Kitty.

Deep inside her belly raged the snorting bulls head.
A void is emptiness only when nothing else will fit.

Gradually we fossilised into two separate creatures.
We can no longer tell

who became the insect and who
turned into amber.

Stierenkop

Stierenkop

Sinds ik geboren ben, woedt er in de onderbuik van mijn moeder
een enorme stierenkop. Hij raast door haar verlaten lijf

en maakt littekens in de braakliggende moeder, soms
weet ze niet zo goed wie ik ben, dat is verontrustend

want ooit paste ik helemaal in haar, gelukkig
ben ik volgens de astronomische constellatie van de Kreeft

genotzuchtig, betrouwbaar en creatief. Hierin vindt ze houvast,
een godsbewijs tussen vruchtwater en heelal.

Als we witlof met hesp in de oven aten, kreeg ik het kaaskorstje.
Helemaal. Omdat ik het wilde.

Liefde is iets wat ik ken uit een kookpot,
altijd twee extra scheppen op een vol bord

een tweede koekje in de gele pudding verstopt.
Dat is een veelvoorkomende vorm van moederlijk gedrag:

‘De opvulling van het jong’.
Door de holte die ik in haar naliet, wilde ze mij vol en rond.

Op een ochtend kondigde ik haar dan de komst van de kleine borsten aan.
Ze was daar dagenlang kapot van.

Uiteindelijk kreeg ik een bh,
één met Hello Kitty erop.

Vanuit haar buik bonkte de briesende stierenkop.
Een holte is pas een leegte als er niets meer in past.

Langzaam fossiliseerden we in twee aparte wezens.
Het is niet zeker

wie van ons het insect en wie
de barnsteen werd.
Close

Bulls head

Ever since I was born an enormous bulls head rages
in my mother’s belly. It’s on a rampage in her empty womb 

creating scars in the fallow mother. Sometimes  
she doesn’t quite recognise me, which is troubling 

because at one time I fitted inside her perfectly. Luckily,
according to the astronomical constellation of Cancer

I’m pleasure seeking, reliable and creative. She finds this consoling,  
an article of faith connecting amniotic fluid to the universe.

Whenever we had chicory baked with gammon, I’d get the crust of cheese.
All of it. Because I’d asked for it.       

The love I know is dished up from a casserole, 
the two extra helpings on a full plate

that second biscuit hidden in the yellow pud.
This is a typical feature of motherly conduct:   

‘Stuffing ones young’.
In exchange for the void I left in her, she wanted me full and round.       

Then came the morning I announced the arrival of two small breasts.
The news broke her spirit for days.

Eventually she handed me a bra,
emblazoned with Hello Kitty.

Deep inside her belly raged the snorting bulls head.
A void is emptiness only when nothing else will fit.

Gradually we fossilised into two separate creatures.
We can no longer tell

who became the insect and who
turned into amber.

Bulls head

Ever since I was born an enormous bulls head rages
in my mother’s belly. It’s on a rampage in her empty womb 

creating scars in the fallow mother. Sometimes  
she doesn’t quite recognise me, which is troubling 

because at one time I fitted inside her perfectly. Luckily,
according to the astronomical constellation of Cancer

I’m pleasure seeking, reliable and creative. She finds this consoling,  
an article of faith connecting amniotic fluid to the universe.

Whenever we had chicory baked with gammon, I’d get the crust of cheese.
All of it. Because I’d asked for it.       

The love I know is dished up from a casserole, 
the two extra helpings on a full plate

that second biscuit hidden in the yellow pud.
This is a typical feature of motherly conduct:   

‘Stuffing ones young’.
In exchange for the void I left in her, she wanted me full and round.       

Then came the morning I announced the arrival of two small breasts.
The news broke her spirit for days.

Eventually she handed me a bra,
emblazoned with Hello Kitty.

Deep inside her belly raged the snorting bulls head.
A void is emptiness only when nothing else will fit.

Gradually we fossilised into two separate creatures.
We can no longer tell

who became the insect and who
turned into amber.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
Versopolis
J.E. Jurriaanse
Gefinancierd door de Europese Unie
Elise Mathilde Fonds
Stichting Verzameling van Wijngaarden-Boot
Veerhuis
VDM
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère