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She puts away childish things
Early mornings – I would turn no light on, open no curtain, and force whatever little light the letters held to my eyes. I loved this most – reading against the dark. So really, it should be no surprise to hear a friend explain as I reel in the dark – you’ve neither of you done any wrong. He couldn’t love very much, that’s all.
Trinity
Lured in by dilution, you trap yourself in a better man’s skin and look at me through his devotion. You ask kind, careful questions, your attention almost like love; my remoteness draws you, yet we both know it is the priest you love, or for lack of more, his desire now. I know you can’t give much of this shadow worship, yet still I feel that being loved by two through you makes up for what you lack. All day I watch you lift the shells of eggs you broke before and pore to find where not to step, the only map you have. One night I wake to hear you writhe in borrowed skin, your eyelids flicker a silent prayer for your release. Then morning comes – the inmate glow gone from your eyes, skin taut round the sockets, all signs of tenants gone. You stayed too long, and loved for you. Pilgrim, we’ll always have the dark in me.
Tough
All we do as kids is trace the hot castle wall to the top of the hill, eat from the sloe and dream of water. Or use our bodies as points on a narrowing circle, the centre of which is a boar our fathers will shoot as the sun drops through the leaf cover like raw yolks through our mothers’ fingers. Here, girls don’t cry. Nor do we save ourselves for ‘the one’. We know he won’t come. And sex- lessness is something we shed with our plaits as batteries slow-leak in the CD players under our pillows. Now, people think me odd for putting my mouth to running water at my city teaching job. I can’t tell them I do it because though many tiny lightbulbs blow, like the loss of my parents’ home, or my sister’s complicated love, I still can’t feel tired, or put on weight, or thin out; that the more I run, the more I accumulate energy and my shoulder shapes itself from sheer will. So I put my mouth to running water, and I think I hear something inside, flowing. That when I find it it will be like pulling chimes from the sea or a beautiful glass fish shattering; that I will find one morning, a mark on my pillow like ooze from a ripe mango. That when I close the tap and walk to class I think of you saying, as you moved my hips fondly when you no longer loved, how delicate my body was, delicate – and the opposite of that –