yuanfen
“Meditate on this terror, and something mysterious happens. You become one with the blackness. ”
What do I see when I paint my face?
Elegantly aging; why does it take so
long? I hold a jar of tea in my palms
and the liquid sways with movement.
Each breath is an invocation of trust.
My ripening has slackened.
I am the undertow. I lay as a corpse
in a bed of white and gold feathers. My
earrings are crystals that fell from the
Moon. Beauty must be undone. I am the
bulb you forgot to switch off before bed.
Luminosity is alive within and that faint
glimmer spreads like jam on crispy toast
when you look at me. I am made young
through laughter. My hands are the most
wonderful thing about me. Small and
limber, like puffins digging in the sand.
I’ve burrowed deeper into a nest with
out a breast to lean into. It’s quiet here,
I cannot see my face past the wood.
I feel like sap splitting through a vine,
bleeding out through the pressure.
Photo source.
