"Quell" (a poem for you)

I'm sorry for being absent this week, lovelies—alas, I came down with a fever & was rather incapable of blogging much. I have been mainly lounging in bed & eating ice cream & reading Superman comics & checking my temperature every half hour, but in between those productive pursuits, I did indeed manage to spin a poem out of my fingers for Friday Poetry! This is in a rather different style than those I generally write, & to be honest, I am not quite sure whether I like it all that much.

Perhaps I will leave that up to you to decide, though. Your thoughts are, as always, welcomed with open arms—please do let me know your feedback in the comments section. I would so love to hear it.

A very happy (early) Lunar New Year to you all, & I do hope no one else has come down with this pesky virus! All my love to you; I’ll see you next week. Enjoy. xx

Quell

It goes something like this: / she & I are in the hospital. Then we are in the car. / Then we are in the hospital / again, only now she’s talking to herself & the ghosts & me & now / it sounds like a strangling. / Now that’s a metaphor I can get behind. / It goes something like this: / it’s not a metaphor anymore. / It goes something like this: / a knife & a finger / could almost pass for a quiet accident. / Let me talk to you about all the ways she pronounces mercy. / Nobody else has given me time to explain / how her tongue licks around the syllables like a creature / on the pavement to paralysed. / It goes something like this: / a fugue. / A forged invitation. / A little girl with something in her lungs / & then she is not a little girl. / Sound like / take this moment & do not let it go. / Sound like please. / Please, darling. / Sound like a bite / & then a kiss swallowing its own tongue. Something in the distance famished like the old wounds are. / Something in the distance forgotten until it isn’t forgotten / anymore. / Sound like / a softness. A strangling. / Please, darling. Don’t ever / let it go.