Mommy is short and thick with wide hips and a wider bosom, complemented by the way her hair cascades over her shoulders and frames her chest with dark curls both slick and wild. She has child eyes—because she is scarcely a grown-up, but I have yet to learn that—and laughs a lot, easy and loud. When I'm sad, she hugs me close and tells me that life isn't always fair but pain is important. She tells me when I'm angry to think with my head first but always trust my feelings. And most importantly, she wakes me up every morning with breakfast and tummy tickles.
In August, the trees are gold, and she paints them on her big canvases tha
beating
is kinder
than leaving.
sometimes I wish
your last words were
movements.
a hand against my cheek,
a fist to my chest,
an arm around my neck,
nails on my wrist.
the ache more real
and easy
to find.
every night I ache and
I point all over.
mostly my heart,
mostly my mind,
to the words stuck
that won’t loosen
that wedge themselves
in my teeth and fall out when
I’m drunk,
in his lap. he doesn’t need them, boy
that loves me until his
teeth rot, who says I don’t
deserve you who constricts
my waist with his hands and who
whispers I love you before
we fuck. he’s got courage like
the front lines of war
i remember you bribing gods you did not believe in
just to stay safe. dropping someone off
on the other side of town, you'd say "here is a good deed,
let's hope this counts."
i thought what kind of a heart is this,
racking up points before Christ.
-
now you say there is no entertainment other than warfare.
lives stretch for so long
half the country stops drinking for new year's,
instead staring into the frosty sky,
waiting for another missile or plane crash.
the diseases you get stick along for the whole ride,
siphoning life out. your lungs wilt and stick
like cobweb to a burnt
the last of the rooks comes into view
swaying in trash bag
brush strokes
meaning when it lands the leaves
will have to get up and change colour
but if it never does.
-
to keep traversing this shifting
sunshine terrain,
it’s been a long road trip and you drink
hot water,
and it numbs your heart
and it tastes like cinnamon
doesn’t mean that you don’t
understand.
-
“
if you land, i’ll morph
out of this household
to replace you,
pour into the desk lamp,
He closed his eyes
when he shot,
missed the heart
through the guts
and she ran
off.
He follows the
old man who follows
the blood.
Several minutes
through the trees,
through the brown leaves
to the body
where it fell.
Still warm,
feel,
the old man says,
patting her neck.
The boy stares at her
eyes, deep and wild
still. Take a leg,
the old man says
and they drag it
nodding and shuddering
through the leaves
and dirt to the cabin.
Laying her beside the woodpile
the old man unfolds a blade.
Don’t look away
he says
and cuts into her coat
from chest to undercarriage,
pulls at the pelt
and shovels out the inside,
naming
vlog of the bodily apocalypse by scheherazades, literature
Literature
vlog of the bodily apocalypse
and this: the bone of the wind. the tiny little god that you squirreled away into your throat when no one was looking. you, an artist, not better than anyone else because of it, with thorns in your sides. aren't those the ones you were given for christmas? i thought they looked familiar. i thought this mountain looked a lot like the back yard. if you don't share this poem then a dead girl will appear in your bathroom tonight. you should make friends with her. you should tell her your name. you should tell her that you know the wind is going numb and boneless and you know, you know that the curve of yourself is a real thing, but you're scared.
the waves spill onto the sand
at an angle,
the current
and the sun-drenched wind
easing the swimmers
gently south
of their towels.
I watch one in particular,
dipping further down
the map than the others:
a woman with water-splayed,
honey-colored hair,
perhaps a little younger than I;
floating on her back
and spitting lakewater upward
which splashes down beside her
due to the wind.
every few seconds
an arm windmills
through the air,
propelling her further
south.
she bobs and rides
the swells,
just beyond
where they break.
a small vicious melody
drifts over the water
from her direction
and I realize
she is laughing.
she backstr