Poetry by Mandy May
I am on this rooftop with lunar runes in my throat
and you are light-times away.
Your flicker burnt body swells. Briefly
you bewitch me and my feet unsteady themselves
on these sandpaper shingles that pull
at the elastic threads of my dress as I drag my belly
onto this landing: such sweet scratching. Fire curls
at your edge and I see it over marble shadow.
You pull at the tide of my mood, wax me to peak delirium.
Rock the slosh of my equilibrium to rest. Roll out your wave
curl, leave me as soft as your stone. I want to be
ancient as gravity. I want you to know that I saw you.
Bathe the babes. Steep the tender of their skin in hemlock tea.
Wrap them in web of linen. Let them breathe
the relief of cotton as they roll with itch of fever.
Fever: the flush of white-washed blood. Let them soak
until the soft of them swells. Leave them for mothers.
To be honest, I’m over here all crystal gush, all warm panic fuzz
and heir to rot. The spell of muscle spasm trills bewitches me.
I try to make sense of my body, the space it takes up
and doesn’t—to make sense of secrets I read in the runes of dried tea leaves.
These peonymouthed babes are better off fending,
fending for fiending, feeding off nectar. I am run dry.
Mad with itch of whisper, I crave spray of poppy salve,
the soothe to carbon carrion of why and how come.
I can’t cradle. I hum and buzz;
and some vibrations are better off left alone.
I’m not here to save anybody, despite my tendency to try.
The pomegranate spill of stained seeds lushes against my pale.
The pearl of my skin flushes with oleander blood and I make bodies roll.
But I am ash against the oak of any other.
Mandy May is a chronically ill, queer writer living in Baltimore with her boyfriend and their three cats. Her work can be found in publications such as The Avenue, Baltimore Fishbowl, Welter, Skelter, Whurk, Dragonfly, and others. She believes in ghosts, magic, and the splendor of a body failing. She is the co-queen/editor of Babe Press. Find her online: @mandyyymayyy & www.mandy-may.com.