Theadora Siranian- “Persephone”

1. Hunger
I tried to make her talk
about her movements
but nothing would do.
The slats in the floor
kept moving
with the rhythms of a broken raft
and the back burner
would not stop clicking.
Then silence, palpable
as the blood
-taste of metal before a snow storm,
and the sweet smell left
behind was haunting.
Two bodies at rest, the map on by the window,
and the shades drawn.

2. Decay
I died so calmly
this time I thought I was constructed
from freestanding porcelain
I could almost see my silver
and pewter insides, wrapped
around so carefully
like a Balinese watch strapped slender
and ornate around my ribcage.

3. October
She moved like the taut skin
of sleep right before the dawn.
She wore a cascade
of well-placed words
and tender lips.
She said blood made her think
of breast-milk and money
and when she kissed me I knew
I had stepped into something dying.
I could taste the white moths  in her mouth,
beating themselves into dust
against the outside door
before the first frost,
and I imagined the noise
of my head hitting the bathroom mirror
that summer so many seasons ago.
Her fingers on my face were glass-tipped
and I thought how they might feel under my teeth.

4. Yesterday
In the morning I dreamt it into life:
two pairs of eyes and the delicate impression of bruised wrists
lying next to me on the sheet.