Tag Archives: writing
When I was just
a little girl
My mother showed me how to
I could live like Alice does
in a wonderland.
At the time we drew them blooming from the earth
Knees dusted in dirt
All I could hear were their howls and screams.
As a woman
thinking on how I am plucked and tugged and wrenched and dislocated
I pat the soil around my babies and promise they will
come to full term
and, when the wind threatens to carry them away,
and knit themselves into crusts and crevices
for you to wonder at
when you are screaming.
Cackling and snortling the arrival of another day
as if to say
You’ve got to do it again you poor fuckers’.
In his laugh the promise of a scorcher
An ear drum and nasal cavity of insects
And a crusted, headlong, headstrong bitumen to navigate.
I don’t know where he pisses off to for the rest of the day
But he sure as hell doesn’t chortle when he’s in the thick of it either.
We will crack peppercorns and rub them into our neck for perfume.
When we come to the corner where the stargazer lily edges over the fence
I will say ‘Lean in.
At the point you wobble
We will marvel at the tiny pebbles etched into your knee…
Until the sound of spokes and wheels meet your ears and I witness your ache for age to arrive
For when can you too pedal and glide?
As your body begins to weigh upon mine with the stories you’ve collected this, one day
Your hands will collect the back of my head so you can meet my gleam.
‘How is it…’
we will say
‘…all of this
I want to own beautiful things.
A hardwood floor
to sprawl about in summer.
that peaks on vinyl
that animates the air
before it has been seen.
I want to reside as a dangling bra strap on your shoulder
My eyes to default to the furrowed creases between brow and bristles at your moment of O
My mouth to savour the bare breaths
when you part
I want every pen indentation
to arrest with intonation
that mornings lathering of soap
The groan you couldn’t help
And that era when my name
sounded like love.
I don’t want
to see the lakes surface quivering above her privates
damp clumps of moss mat beneath my bare arse
And to curl
as they drop
in the air.
I wish I did not write about love.
I wish I had not let them brand me.
If I am on the market
How will people know if this subject
is the only way I’m in print?
I wish I did not write about nature
Specifically how it makes my ovaries blossom.
If I am only fertile these few more years
All ready engraved in pollen
How will anything other than sticky stamen penetrate?
I wish I did not write about Venus.
She gives away my distance, timing and rotation.
If I am not pulled by internet routers
Turned out from churning oceans
How will I find connection?
I wish I did not write about you.
who have folded language over in the mouth so it
Curses in hisses of spit and sputum.
If I am to share saliva again
How can I turn my tongue over?
I wish I had not written.
Pen and paper has given me away.
Perhaps though in ink
You could endorse this woman’s indentations.
I am simply blotched
Bleeding about the page like the rest of you.
Press me to your adjoining pages
I will etch in so you read me well.
Today she thought
I miss being a girl.
How many times these months
chants & championing
woman & strong
impregnated so as she might erupt
An Orphic egg
Spit out a new cosmos amongst the darkness
Create from the wound.
She was sorry to let the universe down.
But when she buckled up her own helmet before riding
when she took her own hand to cross the road against the lights
She shuffled her feet at the curb & breathed
‘All the women in me are tired.
I miss being someone’s girl’.
Lay your body down.
…with your armor up
…and your iron eyes
…and your stiffened lips
Unfurl your hair
let it avalanche down your steel shoulders
and flush cheek bone
Lay your body down.
Tell me your stories
Let your tongue tease out the learning
Your muscles ease out the burning
and your heart
…let it leech out for awhile.
Give. me. your. lungs. warrior.
A baby would know what to do under such circumstances.
I am giving you permission to do the same.
Make your mournful sounds.
You have not forgotten how
Give. me. your. salt. warrior.
Your lacrimation will be a final desalination
excrete what your body can no longer contain.
I will gather the delicate crystalline in my palms
and with index finger and thumb
we will use it to season
what. comes. next.
Lay your body down.