Kiss Mark

Goody two shoes, you still cannot
dispel the magic that protects you from being
touched by a lightning bolt.
You are oil slipping through a sea god’s hands. A bitten fruit
whose seeds are untouched.
Do not forget
how you once wove a garment with your prayers
as you stripped before the eyes of the wild,
letting course hands run through
your breasts, your thighs–
pulling them into depths of consciousness
as you were being plunged into oblivion.

 
Now that your task is complete, your offerings have reached the deity you serve
and you retreat safe into your space
intact, unaffected.
Sleeping
as rain pour in heavy torrents
burying the land that sacrificed you into a deluge.

 

Let the storm rage, as your own seep out of your pores
break into the cracks of your character-
a mask of timid smiles and coerced amens.
One day these bite marks will heal
and the kiss that sealed you from being touched
will fade as the mist clears away.
Yes, the land will be fertile again
and you will rise like any other women
to plough
to sow

To My Dying Dog

Close your eyes.

Let the pain pass, the sickness wash over your tiny body.

It will be over soon.

Do not search for me. Do not fight it anymore.

Everything would soon be better

When you return where you once came from.

There, there.

This is hard for both of us, I know.

I lament the lack of time.

I lament over the memories we haven’t made yet.

I lament that you have to go soon.

So here.

Take this piece of my heart

And run towards vaster lands.

Eat it. This is my last gift to you.

We both need to be strong for your journey:

Strong enough to leave.

Strong enough to stay.