i travelled back across the oceanthe safaris roar and a head filled with lovesick notions
back where i belong, in the hands of my mother,
the mother of my mother
in her hands the broken things in me are no bother
my scars mended with henna and gold by the hands of my potter
i watched her trembling hands as she peeled me mangos, asking if i forgot her
i kiss her and whisper that in my prayers she commands every verse
i fell asleep that night and dreamt a terrible dream
i was looking at the face of my mother and another
my mothers faced covered in tears as i lay smothered
i can't move, always a weak and frail little thing
her song is a cry, what a twisted little child, we must clip her little wings
the woman at my feet is evil there's something broken in her snare
i kick her in the face and blood spurts everywhere
my white dress is painted scarlet
do this or be a harlot
and then she cut me down there
barely seven and im broken
and mama stood and just stared
in my head it plays over and over
if this is a dream why haven't i woken?
my innocence you've stolen
and the womanhood you grant is a pathetic
little token
keep your prophecies and omens
let me wake and be unbroken
know the horse is a trojan
see the lies that they've woven
drown myself in these potions
now i know why i'm broken
why my heart has been frozen
why i'm numb to emotion
on you're knees, blissful devotion
white dress painted scarlet, a thorny rose bruised like violets
i'll be your saint be your harlot
let blood colour my thighs once more, bear a fruit for a harvest
and this power i'll harness
rose from our matrimonial bed and the river of my home i ablute the garment
dust of cloves and cumin fill the air
hands painted with coriander
as i touch this knife i can't help remember
i listen to your sad hymn, one of your tragic lovesick poems, flipping pita after pita
an art form i could never temper, you tell me it won't be a pity with a face that pretty
a siren call, so haunting, and a face just like mine, father said he knew under that beauty lay a tempest
you dropped a white towel and i dreamt it caught fire
and burned it all down, down, down
do you remember, that starless night of december, you must remember
you can't have forgotten all the blood as i lay there, a ghost of your making, a puppet that was in your name dismembered
you have to remember
you don't have the right to try and forget when im forced to remember
swallow the petals in my mouth, tired of this old as time argument, I render my arms and surrender
perfect girl, a smile of splendour
be a rose not a tempest
better tame daddy's temper
YOU ARE READING
For the Sun of your Skin
ParanormalA poetry collection about what it feels like to be loved by the sun, for the scars, the brown and gold that is left as a memorabilia on your skin.