Depth of Perception
published in Canto Cutie Magazine Vol 4.
scoot along — won’t you?
descending on the rounded table tonight
worry my lower lip
wait for the rapture to come in the form
of a she-thing: 婆婆 aims for the throat, my mother casts
her eyes a second too long
on wherever the light catches
my jaw working the cud
sometimes the tops of my breasts
and me, I go for a second serve
with all the trimmings
with a teasing lilt;
words are not hard to swallow.
over time young women become whetstones
maybe they can declare off the extra bits
my face is the rose-cheeked mast
my face it curdles like whey
cannot have a seat at the table where
I feel myself sagging under the weight
unto their wary-creased eye
continue to wax and wane
I do not like the name lazy susan
for a spinning tray or my mother.
were we all useless daughters handed down?
points docked for wear and tear
the defects shall inherit the earth
maybe it is because we are a stronghold of women
that we feel inclined to take turns
point and prod at our fleshy centres
sink in teeth where we see fit
sanding down parts of ourselves threatening to spill
maybe I would be airborne without a spine
light to the touch
hear the clink of my wrist fine-boned scraping the sides of
my gummy smile pot, meet belly!
I catch sight of the me
glint from the porcelain bowl
my grip is tender on the hilt of the spoon
I funnel the grains of my yesteryears
let them bloom unsaid,
as I go
no, thank you. my place is here