Originally posted on The Larcenist :
The fourth issue of The Larcenist literary magazine is now available! It features poetry, prose and stage plays from 28 international authors.
You can obtain your copy via our publisher’s website:
- ebook: http://www.lulu.com/shop/audrey-rey-and-mina-hunt/the-larcenist-volume-1-issue-4/ebook/product-21761182.html
- paperback: http://www.lulu.com/shop/audrey-rey-and-mina-hunt/the-larcenist-volume-1-issue-4/paperback/product-21761188.html
Also: we are now accepting submissions for Issue #5 (due in October), so feel free to send in your work!
The Larcenist Staff
I fold my dirty body next to the sun as it falls to sleep across a boneyard.
Our Daughters sleep in there, clinging on to life and on to death.
They strip down to breast and bone for swine, gnawing on
their own skeletons for some Great Man to tame them. They play in ash playgrounds,
burnt down by thieving snakes of virginity.
Our hands can do nothing.
Our Book does nothing.
Our Sons are bound, shackled by veins to elusion. They strain,
barefoot in the desert where demons build their muscles on doubt and hesitation.
Fear is a great interruption to the infant shadows that remain young
nuisances until trepidation grips its claws around their hollow shoulders
and carry them away.
And, as the boneyard grows next to me. I lie, with burnt wings, in a chill that never dies.
I never had been born. It was old hands
that sketched my frame. Hands that knew how to suffer
wisely. It was a gift
to my bones, a curse that shifts
with weight and time.
Clocks wait on scales to tip time. I am rushed.
Blood cycles through my life.
Old lines outline my eyes. I am timed.
I slept with a man
and was traced. He recreated me; my child.
My simple face on a prettier canvas.
I didn’t wish for this.
I didn’t dream.
She just belongs to me.
I drag my bones along aching seas
each step pains deeper with memory,
Dark lines shade over mine.
They try to erase me
From my bones, I cry.
I cannot be
an easy sketch of a memory.
Each morning greets me differently;
she kisses my cheek for love, or
spits down my throat for some other reason.
I used to hate her obnoxious light.
When I was a child I threw sticks
at her and swore I would do myself
in before she could. I made rope from vines
that her sun rays grew. I gathered
poison that lived on her sickly Earth
and piled them next to my bare toes
as they dug deep through the planets
I think I sat in this spot, with my back toward
her for years on top of years.
She burned and blistered through my anger,
but I couldn’t see.
Until, one morning, my daughter greeted me,
sat softly next to my feet and reached deep into
the pile of poison
that I’d been saving for me.
I did not touch yesterday, like I say I did.
My fingerprints are missing.
I lost them on a glass man,
wrapped my hands around
his whiskey sour, like I shouldn’t have.
He mingled with fire over
victory, like a beast gnawing
on my shoulder
I looked over his shadow like I owned him,
but daylight quickly ended, now
here I am. Fingertips dripping
off frozen glass,
as miserable as I planned it,
and here I still sit,
alone and empty-handed.
winds sail slow
arriving with difficulty
I speak against another
burned by sun light
I am familiar
with the dark -
with automatic disappointment
that my lips may
part for lava
but not for pardon
and I sail slow over
arriving with difficulty
where familiar darkness
When it is day, I do not recognize
this land. We live on
moonlit love and hard water
soaked in oak barrels.
When sunlight takes over
this land, I do not recognize
his hands that
lay me to rest with Strigiformes
and kiss my skin to death
his voice blurs my vision
when it is day, he is
he is a reflection of a
fermented sea I drown in
when I swim away from this
foreign land I live on.
In truth, I open my eyes.
I am punished
for my power.
I have refused water to dry people
and tied anchor to those who heard the word
and believed it.
I became a burning flame in
bedrooms of strange
men, who desire reward
like Corinthians say they deserve.
I am a sin by nature,
I open my eyes.
I am power.
It is true.
I am essential,
a peppermint leaf
thirsty for day
soaked in warm breast milk.
I have found you.
summer drips off walls and
coats black roads
we are melting into tomorrow
today was nailed and hammered by a carpenter with
a golden voice
It’s blurry, but I see it
people have lost livers and kidneys
and I am sad for them, I am
from under a rock
from the depths of the Pacific
from unknown planets
where I am carried by a carpenter and His golden voice