7:26 a.m.
monday morn —
bedroom parlour
***
"girl! i'm leaving for work. fix
yourself and eat your meals."
you mean drugs.
i hauled my sore carcass
towards the door that
separates me from the
human insect that looms
behind these crumbling
walls.
pressing my ear on the
door — i did not retort.
i vomited the oxygen
that i have swallowed.
only when i caught the
faint slam of the portal
that leads to the world
and the mellow clicks
of newly-polished
heels.
oh! mother, you didn't
stop me from dreaming.
yet you traded my
art of dancing for those
dreams.
your dreams for me.
if only i knew,
how an insect you could
be. how you loom and
twist your sinister limbs
to catch me off-guard.
then when i'm weak,
you shatter my legs
and forbid me from
dreaming the only
dream that I have ever
reached from above
the midnight sky.
***
YOU ARE READING
Our Vintage Dance on the Phonograph
Puisi"you and - me, we traversed at the eve of the colossal pages of our bedroom balcony." - excerpt there is no other dancing partner i would dance with other than you, my sun. you bring me to places that are wiped out of history - to the gardens of rui...
