May 2015 - Comments Off

Nikolina Lazetic

Sowing in the Motherland (Which I Have Abandoned)

Floods are so common there that I was born with an ocean tattooed on my feet:

Excuse my drowning, I am shallow.

		   

Scoured cicatrix of words
not of my mother tongue and unknown to my mother,
						who had no childbearing hips, slips
off my tongue-
              unbraiding
 pre-Raphaelite hair (a rip-off of sharp hay)
          honey-sealed (impassable for fingers),
adorned in olive oil, collapses
heavy on the lips – first ever lover's;

This inexorable Tongue, a terrible gallop
of echoes - a language
                      unzips your chest:

“Hey.”


Rest.
     Like a vulture
I seize the tongue wet with sighs in my mother tongue:
Mother – boy, nurture
              the azure
of my sangue.                                  

I hold it like I would hold a snake, 
                                    this mouth-blade
of bleached sighs and past goodbyes that moistened
my thighs:                  
I wrap it around my finger – your tongue,
                             my umbilical cord -
and I wed
the past again. I hold
the limb of you against my naval, then pull it by the head
up - unzipping to debride.


Inside: 
      I am pink and gold. 
                You fold
the tongue against my lung. Sighs unfurl 
into the Type O Strawberry Blonde. 
    
Stop. 
        You cannot breathe against my chest. Smoke
the sugar of it all - You have finally consumed your past. 

It will choke
you.                                                 

Published by: in Issue 1: Fall 2014, Poetry, Volume 71

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