Nikoletta Nousiopoulos — i was once a pretty_________.

it was the summer of floating grass: flames on axis:
solar footprints–

my morning star provoked echoes inside the body. did you hear,

wings of birds and cervixes of women are
similar beauties: white horses in a fragile sun;

i’m dressing up daily in the bruises
of peaches–

for the light of lunar waning
illuminate between my legs: the last brightness

of being burned.

i remember meat of twigs, fingertips
of woods & lightning in an empty field–

the rest is forcing the sky down
in my blooming throat.

can you slice through the nerve of a flower?
can you carry my body (in fragments) in the suitcase
        until the hills invent a witness
        until I become a plastic doll?

in the fire, in the snow’s bones, i find some syntax
to hold the rain hostage

until i’m small enough to be eaten again
or melted lovingly in a crooked spoon