I want to know how the flavor comes about, how you brush against my skin and taste something sweet. I am but a pillar of salt looking at things I’m not supposed to and paying the price for it. So surprisingly human.
I bite myself and all I taste is bitter.
Death Becomes Her
Excerpt Part One.
Before and After
Excerpt Part Two.
3. Blessed Child
4. Liquid Water on Mars
5. Language of Flowers
we are fleeing all the places we could not bear to leave before. my mother’s womb is no longer someplace holy. the bed where we spent days in the filth of ourselves. i have to wonder, who will love us after this?
what is the point in remaining pure when everything else about you has been soiled? i touch myself in the dark and wish it was you. i touch myself in the light of day and wish it was no one.
“come here,” says my mother. “i want to see what you look like. i want to see what i made.” there is no chance i will ever be something lovely. my small hands, sharp chin, hands cold between the silent syzygy and the pressing of piano keys. what does your voice sound like when it’s not speaking? i ask her, “fill me with light again, make me something new.”
the water tumbles out of the spigot like it too is afraid of being confined. what a fate for something that can only ever fill the shape of it’s container. when the ice melts it runs into the gutter, underneath the streetlights, back into the open basin. the dirt is red and i am becoming redder.
we believe we can learn any number of things from nature. we do not have enough words to describe the dawning of the world. pida, the act of opening, blossoming, like a cherry blossom in spring. i want to learn how you do it. there is no fault here. open, and i will forgive you.