Arsenic Lobster
poetry journal |
Issue Nineteen Spring 2009 |
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Threads of a Past Life Christina Cook Millipedes slink through the fibers of the hall carpet, like long fronds fallen from a far-off palm into the deep wool pile, while the wind seethes with hawthorne japonica dogwood pollen seeking itself again and again to seed in the soil of the vanda orchid potted on the landing amidst the swings and bangs of the screen-door, the strong coffee's soft steam, and children fast asleep inside mosquito netting, sheer silk, sheen of skin supple over bone, talcumed and glinting with peony sky, petal-crush that frills brown and slowly smells of fish. All this and the veranda is empty. The wicker quiet. Breeze slithers through the empty house, flicking the drapes and tablescarves like a lynx's tail. Cardamom scent of an afternoon tryst in the heat while animals caterwaul in the ruined garden, among the naked arms of the leprous plane trees. The ceremony of the corset fringe of the willow falling off and phoebes full of the heavy rains. Mere wanting, mere expectation of delight: the millipedes plant themselves piecemeal. |
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About Christina Cook |