Audrey Spina
Pomegranate Seeds
My mother and I scrape edges
of a flayed pomegranate, searching
for its stars and I think we’re like Galileo
scanning the inked night sky:
our stars blood pink. We drop them
loose into a shallow bowl,
wetted, juice clinging to seeds,
widening like fabric releasing
from the body of a drowned girl.
of a flayed pomegranate, searching
for its stars and I think we’re like Galileo
scanning the inked night sky:
our stars blood pink. We drop them
loose into a shallow bowl,
wetted, juice clinging to seeds,
widening like fabric releasing
from the body of a drowned girl.
I think of Persephone—will I be tied
in marriage like her? Will juice, blood
pink, widen from my body, expanding
from my hold for someone else,
a child? How we give and scrape,
widen in water to take up space:
flesh scored and knifed to reveal
our innards like jewels.
in marriage like her? Will juice, blood
pink, widen from my body, expanding
from my hold for someone else,
a child? How we give and scrape,
widen in water to take up space:
flesh scored and knifed to reveal
our innards like jewels.
Young Womanhood in the Professional Workplace
is like sucking an orange slice
down to the peel
down to the peel
when everyone expects you
to do that thing
where you leave it in your mouth
where you leave it in your mouth
and smile: the curve of the skin
playfully silencing your lips,
playfully silencing your lips,
the vision of the rind
bright and sweet,
bright and sweet,
the meaty sour flesh
clamped solid between clenched teeth.
clamped solid between clenched teeth.
Man in the Cathedral
Consider the floor of a cathedral gripping / to earth. How does it hold / one true god / when this house speaks / in tongues and forgets the lips? / Consider the phrase one true god. / Look up. / Colored glass windows stretch like open mouths / filtering pink light, / staining skin like ink. / They say it helps you see / god. / Consider the man who lives / in the cathedral, humming / hymns of some holy father / who isn’t really your father: / you’ve never even seen him. / Sigh so noise from your hot breath / floats to the ceiling. / Consider how / the ceiling opens like windows: / its ribs skinned, hollowed and arched to make room / for steamed breath / so the Father can hear / better. / Now squint. / Consider if he’s listening. / Consider if he’s ever listened at all.
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