gardens
written by: ilex fenusova
@ilex.oeleven
last night I threw my skin
against a tall mirror
to find my features against the wait and the glass.
nothing here; move along,
move along.
from my back rose a large scarlet bird of paradise,
from my feet between sinew and muscle
crept small poppies that stained where I walked.
I was in full bloom.
I crept into bed, curled small as a spore,
and the fabric was soaked within an instant;
bright with the red wood moss of my body.
I have kept you aloft so long, my dear,
with my breath
that I have forgotten that this air is mine, not ours.
how could I have known then?
that small shared gust stirred frail, rust leaves
that both of us admired.
you don’t know the names of the four winds
but I will call to them for you now
as I curl up tighter in my bed-garden,
as I watch you fall deep into that roiling sea.
I am so sorry this happened. move along,
move along.
Should have kept a Rolodex of publications but hindsight is 20/20. Items seen here have not been published before.
- (postcards) - May 6, 2017
- Phase Locking - April 18, 2017
- On The Tundra (for M.B. and H.K.) - March 29, 2017
