Just Truth, Teeth, and Wings

She was crafted from hammered pain—bones smelted out of hurt ore, heart set afire, dipped in frigid blood and torrid tears until her soul screamed adamantium into armor around her reality. Her night-stories swarmed with what most minds believed belonged to the wrong lived. Death licked her skin, danced with her mind, wrung pearls out of her eyes… wanting her to wish for it.

Under today’s dark moon and grinning sun, she wraps wild verses around the hardness of her all. Her lived hand takes a lie—once carved on her backbone—and shapes it into poems. She lets go not of memories full of broken bones and bloodied howls. She plants them in the soil soothing the flames burning out of her skin. She consumes the hurt, births energy out of old pains. Death still speaks to her, but there is no hunger in The Reaper’s words… just truth, teeth, and wings.

born on fire,
she feeds on summer
and blazes

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the (not so) wee notes…
Adamantium: a fictional metal alloy… in American comic books published by Marvel Comics, and is best known as the substance bonded to the character Wolverine’s skeleton and claws.
– “wrapped in verses”, I stole the phrase from Brendan’s quoting of John Hollander’s views about how Dante was able to get through his Inferno.
– Linked to Expanding Bits of Fiction and Poetry into Haibun, 11… also to Poets United (Poetry Pantry, 201), the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, Sunday Mini-Challenge: Harrowing and Hallowed (“write about something that is both harrowing and hallowed. Rough up an experience with that dreadful harrow then look at it in the opposite way, the lair of death becomes a golden stair”). I based my poem on AlmaMia Cienfuegos, the main character of a short story collection that shares her name.

AlmaMia Cienfuegos and Other Stories-Facebookfrom the cover of AlmaMia Cienfuegos and Other Stories, by Magaly Guerrero
(painted to fiery life by Michelle Kennedy)
*Shelle, you rocketh very mucho*

A Senryū for My Paramour

“Let’s go back to the edge of [the] forest and name the paramours who led us to write… Write about sex, sexualized experience, sexless burning, the kiss of strange winds, the sexiness of death. Write about the arrow’s sheer barb. Or whatever else the paramour might mean to you—say, the strange wood we enter starting the next poem.” These are the words of Brendan MacOdrum, on this week’s Sunday Mini-Challenge: The Paramour, over at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads. I can say nothing but “Yes!” to such a call. So here is my bit:

“A Senryū for My Paramour”

He kisses secret places in the inside of my bones… and adds teeth. His caresses come with nail. When his touch arches my back and his wild thrusts make me gasp, he digs deeper… deeper… I stop him—before his chronic lust can scratch unhealable marks on my soul.

I no longer tell him to stop, just write him hard on foot and back, feeding him tales and poesy… until we both get what we want… or, what we can.

stroking flesh and bone,
my Poesy Paramour
writes off constant hurts

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a wee note: I’m sure you noticed that the poem is actually a haibun. However, my Poesy Paramour and I are not in such good terms at the moment. So his bastard self can only have the senryū. Yes, the prose is mine, you greedy pain in the neck… and back… and hip… and gut…

Escape, by Yvonne Palermo
“Escape”, by Yvonne Palermo
(I’ve shared this piece before, but every time I read the artist’s words about the painting, I feel the need to re-share: “Escape is a portrayal of my inner person. The figure depicted represents my ability to let go and accept my constant state of pain in order to continue existing.”)
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