I lay a thick black forest
I lay a thick black forest
cake on its tray and wolf
it with my eyes, empty
an entire salt pig
on the frosting before
I bin it. Someone
taught me to do this, online
or in therapy or on reality
tv, I remember only
it seemed to me so spoilt
and my mother
used to make me
eat what I had left
over from dinner for
breakfast then lunch
even a raw egg
when I broke it.
She served
my meat with blood
pretending it was berries
until I was old enough
to tell the difference.
And when I asked
about her wrists,
asked about my father,
she said go,
leave me to my flowers.
I trampled on her beds
of nettled lavender, never
learning to take
a whole garden,
make of it a bouquet.
I only know to prime my eyes
and bite my lips. I melt
everything with grit.
Mother, I have eaten
all you made me.
It was so sweet
it hurt.
Twin Time
7:59 am ring-ring. Did you come home with the batter mix? I grew a shushed
violet, me, your mirror-sad and out of context twin. Always up to something in my
revolving dream fan— learning how to eat again, or having a blue fugue. Last
night I was counting light switches in the kitchen and you gave me a Poltergeist
scream. Now I’m all inside-red, fire and tear, itching to count again. I ought to tell
you it’s late, it’s really early, its ever-late. Its 10:10 pm.
It’s 4:20 am one year later and furling. You’re a real succubus. I’m a diary-wreck
bursting into flames, into laughter, dissociating all the way by 2:30 pm. Get lost
darling, you might get dizzy through my window. This wall would look nice on
your wall with my uvula. I count the leaves on the hedge with my dirty hands and
10:35 am smoke-cry. Ring, with a bow of innocence. I stole the look from your
face. Sooner or later you’ll be me.
Darling, may these white roses cut into your palm
You smile, a poor excuse havocking your face.
Out with your mates, you missed my birthday.
Now the bed digests my body heat, roses droop
in your palm like dirty white flags.
And just as we know the dancing woman is dying
in the next scene, the villain doing a good deed
is dying in the next scene, and the playing kitten
is only practising to kill, we both know
what’s coming. Close your mouth
as I pull the sheet over our last moments.
______________
Vasiliki Albedo’s poems have appeared in Poetry London, The Poetry Review, Oxford Poetry, Poetry Wales, Mslexia, Magma, Wasafiri, The Rialto and elsewhere. Her poem ‘On hearing the seismologist say there could be an 8.5R earthquake near Athens’ was nominated for the 2024 Forward Prize for Best Single Poem.
These poems were chosen by Anthropocene Guest Editor HLR.
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