Alys: Architect, Prodigal and Witch.Paula Mendoza-Hanna
Study me: Fixated. Addict for his edict. Edifice. Defiled. Column me in Doric. Ionic. Priapic. Not ruminate: Brood. Not well—but: barley bread. (Lo, and alle man shal be refresshed) The strut is pretended. The boy pose is pretend, too. Mad, but muted. Soft stomp in my stride. But I am a weak in spite of this walk. And I am weak in spite of stone. False weal of a withered tit leaking its bitters, sluice the inlet carved my chest an S. S for Scarlet, mis- re. Membered, dangling what the draperies missed. I am not convinced of fire. (Ignis. Ignes. LIAR!) There is little balm in this suck of poultice you press to my chapped mouth (a way of happening) Your spit is vinegar drink. And tongue, pity's sponge. Any number of words. (would do) Any number. Any word. 47. Quatro. Or, Quarto—a room. Canto: A piece of the body. A piece. The tail end. Or heads up. Or now, and every shall be. Or foreclose. Forlorn. Four part madrigal who bleated her way back to (Mama fold? Daddy fold?) No body in particular. What sin? No matter child but we welcome you. Enfold. feed, sleep. Be granted reprieve. And spend the gold like a new born thief. He stole. I'll steal. O practiced weal of the shriveled breast. You were unloved. I was unmet. We made a tinder bed to burn heretic. Then pages. The poet witch, in cinders. Her weird rage, a cage of flame. (I am not con- vinced of: FIRE!) Where were you sister? I? I was killing swine.
Paula Mendoza-Hanna Read Bio Author Discusses Poems
|©copyright 2004-2019, No Tell Motel. All poems ©copyright the authors.|