page 56

Inflictions

1.
The thin girl whisks her desires.
They form white peaks
which she licks—

so light, so airy
so exactly unfilling

though somehow they stick to her teeth.

2.
When she first met him
she saw that his banner was love

stretched like arms,

like jaws.

She turned away
—as quick as a laugh.

page 57

3.
Once she thought he looked like
a floating poem.

She dreams of words that slide away,
stories that slip from her mouth
darken the sheets.

4.
Now she's had enough.
A skinful of him—
every part of her crammed,
pores stretched to gasping.

He wants to point out a few things.

No
defences.

5.
She watches his tears
splash and fracture
then sheds his look.
Turns back
to hunger.

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Mother tongue

Open the gate
and you'll see an almost figure:
your mother when you were born.

She shimmers in red
and as you approach
hands you your name
on paper so thin
you're afraid to touch it.

You need to retreat.
Go down the gravel path
(slowly now, you're shoeless,
and those stones are more like shards).
At a certain point,
you'll reach an opening
and before you

a canopy of letters,
so close together
you can only just make them out.

Or can you? You thought
you could pick out that name
given—but these shapes
have no edges.

Oh yes, the silence is telling you,

you are not the right child.