She plods into my waiting arms like
an open petal hungers for the bees.
Gummy and soft. A concerted coos,
clucks, and bubbles. Eloquent fruit of
my loins. Instrument of my instincts.
Lullabies for my hunger. Hair of black
ink curls into the silver belly of my story
telling. Sucking her tiny thumb like a
blind girl divines life from the mingle of
sweet saliva upon the finger’s grooves.
Rounded knees nudge deep where my
fatness jostles. Fast to dream. She is a
quiet tapestry cloaked in flesh.
I follow the river of her crooked form. My
finger poises above that button-nose where
a sliver of crusted mucus thrusting out
from the shadow, cradling threads of
the afternoon sun. Sooty lashes curtain
the amber lake, and upon its water lays
the light of the world. Sailing still a finger
to her primrose breaths that cling to the
nether bone, they are in rhythm with my
own.
finger poises above that button-nose where
a sliver of crusted mucus thrusting out
from the shadow, cradling threads of
the afternoon sun. Sooty lashes curtain
the amber lake, and upon its water lays
the light of the world. Sailing still a finger
to her primrose breaths that cling to the
nether bone, they are in rhythm with my
own.
An infinite oblivion. So through the sieve of
hours, days, years and lifetimes unfolding
beyond, debris will fall upon ruins. When
hollowness will purge all tenderness along
with memories. Yet I shall belt my body on
the back of sorrow then plunge beneath where
her parting sleeps. Into the living sea of our
waking dreams.
hours, days, years and lifetimes unfolding
beyond, debris will fall upon ruins. When
hollowness will purge all tenderness along
with memories. Yet I shall belt my body on
the back of sorrow then plunge beneath where
her parting sleeps. Into the living sea of our
waking dreams.
It is always I, and it is always her I am
holding. Like a dearest breath, well-loved,
in my motherly hands.
holding. Like a dearest breath, well-loved,
in my motherly hands.
Originally published on Literary Orphans.
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Lana Bella
A Pushcart nominee, Lana Bella is an author of two chapbooks, Under My Dark (Crisis Chronicles Press, 2016) and Adagio (forthcoming from Finishing Line Press), has had her poetry and fiction featured with over 230 journals, California Quarterly, Chiron Review, Columbia Journal, Poetry Salzburg Review, Plainsongs, Pure Slush, The Writing Disorder, Third Wednesday, and elsewhere, among others. She resides in the US and the coastal town of Nha Trang, Vietnam, where she is a mom of two far-too-clever-frolicsome imps.