tending, mouth wash, sour tongue, sweet tooth, & ring stones
Poetry by Leighann Darville
Vanitas Still Life by Jan van Kessel the Elder, Courtesy National Gallery of Art, Washington
tending
we grip flowers so tight, so secure, thorns plant themselves into our palms, water
themselves with our veins. instinctually, our body rewires internal pathways. blood
rushes head to heart to hands; black sleeves dampen two degrees darker. our gushing
spigot freshens those flowers, wets their stems. as petals unfurl their colours we bring
bouquet to face. inhale deep and complete. florals are thousands of bees swarming skin.
itch begins behind ears, ends at base of heels. we feel them burrow flesh in search of
non-existent queen. step by step we follow assembled spider – one gleaming casket
body, eight men for legs. heart beat hard, chest-bird thrashes, feather tufts choke throat.
body feeds flowers, houses bee buzzes and foul flutters. solemn procession sermons on.
we shed no tears. scream no woes. faint no spells. all good land of our body leaves
infertile the teeming territory of temperament. when time comes, we take steps. stand
beside that hole. eight-by-three. six feet deep. uproot flowers, bees alongside, cast them
into overturned earth. bird, alone as last, roosts. when sky drizzles, we leave yard a
garden tended.
mouth wash
gargle pronouns deep in we throat, way down back. spit em errywhere. let em mix wit
rotton teet an bloody tongue. foam splatter basin wit we insides. allow da free space ta
open up. rinse an repeat till erryting fall loose. til erryting left got da space ta spread.
swill. soften girlhood plague each pass. wash away we confines. don swallow. keep
spittin.
sour tongue
boys play catchas-freezas circles roun da house. all da windows open da door wedge wit
rock. dey want we join but only boy-brats do as dey please. we gotta sit ass ta concrete
back ta bedframe an fol sun-stiff clothes piece at a time. mudda don raise girls ta be boy-
brats. acridity builds. it taste jealous. burn a lost freedom. promise a house-bound
future. brittle teet clench on toxic jawbreaka. bile buildin from gut an da fumes coat we
tongue. bite it. chew like cud.
sweet tooth
word father rotton on teet. burt cavities dat run deep. we plier pull anger from far back.
slam door. yank delicate floss string—snap. we grin blacken wit time. wobbly teet ache
soft sockets. live wire nerves resistin rest. we crave sugar sweet an soft an een never
satisfied. juss enamel erosion mouth rots meldin mind. it twiss up from we dead roots.
only pain an ecspectation.
ring stones
a ring is – a stone, heavy with ecspectation; a weight in hand, ready ta be thrown. dey
wink from fourth fingas. we see dem and wonder, not if but when. when metal meets
flesh, when stone kisses proximals thru layered tissue, when we ga be tied ta someone
faever an always. dem who carry seem ta slump shoulders. dey movements look slow.
not if but when. our shoulders already hurt. snaps, cracks an pops. trap air in joints. how
will we be able to twiss free if we need. pitch when time come. too heavy dat stone
lodged finga. do not look fa dat extra weight. stones inna da wolf belly make him drown.
someting worse exists afta dat altar.
Leighann Darville is a born and raised Bahamian who moved to the unceded and traditional territory of the Syilx Okanagan peoples to study creative writing and publishing at Okanagan College. they write in Bahamian dialect and has one spouse, two cats, and no publications.