a/n: this is part one of ten of 'a girl swallows...'. the rest of the poems after this one probably will not follow a storyline or anything, but they will be loosely connected thematically, so.
a concept: your hair woven into tatami mats,
eyes gleaming like tungsten filament in an argon web--
you glow incandescent, lips stained to look as though
the sun blushed when it first saw you,
dipped behind your cupid's bow,
and stayed there.
a concept: rushes kissing mellow soil in August
['they only choose the good seedlings, mother']:
November sun, bone china teacups and resentment
steeped and poured into saucers, into palms opened
like parasols against April sun.
['your bone china must glimmer like starlight:
as pale as Andromeda, as elliptical, as dainty--
do you not want to be like the stars?']
a concept: bone china breaks easily--
so parcel it, bind it in lace, and hide it
from peering eyes. it would be perjury to suggest
that 3000 degrees is nothing to a sturdy heart: your eyes dusty
and mildewed where rumour touches them, the colour
of animal bone ash, the subtext of old books
under torchlight. [‘you are not a sturdy heart, darling:
you are a woman, you are knotted limbs and slender arms
and lips pursed into perpetual smiles.’]
concept: ‘you are effectively quite useless’--
you are simmering rage and wild storms
riding the winter skyline, you are bone china
refusing to chip, you are bound in lace,
not spider-silk, arms untangling themselves
and leaping past the harvest meadows. the earth
steps between the moon and the sun;
an obscuration: swallow it.
let the moon shine on your eyelids tonight.