by Aditi Singh
I. world on fire
Her fingers graze the fruit’s surface,
her body’s surface,
velvet peach skin resisting her movement,
hairs caught in the grooves of her hands the same tension
trapping her body, her spirit —
stuck, and too often left behind.
The velvet skin on her chest covers her heart,
her intentions, her love
but passion confined is not passion extinguished
sweet nectarous blood dares to explode from her body —
a peach free from its plush prison.
Yet she remains in fear,
for when the raging juice of her soul
engulfs the gaping wounds of the Earth,
they will burn, and with that,
she sets the world on fire.
II. scarlet flood
Yellow nectarines fill the crystal,
little drops of liquified sun,
liquified Love,
straw
stretching into our throats with the warmth
of the world.
Sneering servers whisper words of scandal
our sun illuminating their self-righteous glances.
Eve was adam’s spare rib —
who gave her the right
to renounce his flesh
in exchange for another spare soul?
It certainly wasn’t them.
The faces around us
shallow shapeshifters staring with pupils petrified,
little screaming mouths dropping
at the sight of shameless sin, shameless freedom.
Shameless
gaping eyes morph into miniature moons,
but the tides they birth are razor sharp barbs
invading the sun we sip.
Each forbidden drink, forbidden lifetime
another drop of blood beading
at our throats.
One delicate drop at a time,
we drink.
Salt and blood swirl across the canvas of our skin —
who knew our insides were so beautiful?
The scarlet letters they scorn become scarlet essays of sin and solace
become a scarlet flood.
Our breakfast table
a perfect crime scene, a spectacular murder.
who killed us, you ask?
Whoever decided that they needed a scarlet flood
to believe we were beautiful
to believe in our Love.
III. battleground
Her heart cries crimson tears into
a river of life, the river ingrained
in a sacred land that once nourished her soul.
He promised the river would heal,
would save.
But his heel pounds on her healing
because to satisfy his river of life, of pride
he cares not if he pilfers hers.
Wading, blood-red waves bump
with the thumpthumpthump of the
lives he cheated, waves washing over like
yet another a coin flip —
one side the coat of arms arming
his colonization of her body
the other
the rage of generations
fooled into trusting a river
that only watered his ego.
Welcome to river America:
where control and protection
fold on each other like black suits in white houses
who forgot that their game of cards was a life.
Her life.
Because a war fought for battleground states
became battleground bodies
became women
became her.
His careless fingers start at her forehead,
drag through her hair, puppet-string strands
uprooted with every motion
puppet-strings wrap
aroundandaroundandaround.
Instead of shielding her head
they steal her breath, steal her life,
steal her. Because
in America
when they tie her puppet strings,
they tie her a noose made of
water, made of blood.
In america,
her body is War.
IV: where the kelp grows
Her feet collapse into sand,
surrounded by the steps of others.
The kelp filters the sunlight that paints her face,
charred lines their own work of art.
Her face contorts as she screams —
once flatland skin twisting into valleys of despair,
transparent paper skin turning opaque with brass fury.
Close your mouth, dear. you’ll drown your lungs in the sea.
It’s quite unbecoming.
The ghosts laugh, bitter as always.
Stupid girl. what did you think would happen
when you spoke fire into water?
She peels off her shoes at the entrance of the graveyard
stretching feet into freshly laid dirt, and she listens.
Hollow silence engulfs the possibility of solace,
the air laid thick with anticipation
the soil’s musk ripe with the earth’s embrace
but eager to disappoint.
She sits at the base of the first headstone.
She cannot hear the corpses as they shriek into their coffins —
their waves of anguish relentlessly pounding.
The only difference is that they are six feet under dirt,
and she is six feet underwater.
She turns to face the dirt,
and she watches as kelp begins to grow on land.
Comments