always her
she leaves her hair on the pillow
like tangles of sunset cobwebs
poised
to snare my thoughts
throughout the day
soon,
in them, I will be wrapped
and helpless
like a near-dead fly
cocooned
in a prison of the softest thread
... (Full version available in Voice of Eve, issue 6)
passive relations
he was like a giant slab that a god had once thrown from the mountaintop,
sunk into the earth under his own weight
aligned with gravity.
and there he laid, cheek pressed into the dirt, waiting for feet to stand in front of his weather-pounded face
and pass a few words
or strew some crumbs
that his big, long tongue might loll on to
and manage to get stuck on its furred surface…
drag them back in.
the tree that clung to the crags above him,
all thick, wiry root
and hard sinews,
was his ever-constant sentinel,
either dropping idle tears
or watching with impassive indifference
as the sun baked his face to cracks.
occasionally, and with sun-blessed consent,
she’d shelter his face with the long fans of her fingers,
his cheek swollen with silent thanks around her shade.
rarely,
she’d send part of herself fluttering down to rest in his cheek,
a discarded comfort
he was never sure
was meant for him.
feathers
they stroked me with feathers for an age
until the too-tender tickling became an agony
and I begged them
to shred the down from the shafts and
scratch me with the broken remains
they were sad
I had rejected their softness
the not-quite realness of themselves.
I tried to explain that I did not see my reflection in theirs
... (Full version available in Voice of Eve, issue 6)