I don’t remember
(no I don’t remember)
giving birth to this black and
blue bruise
child who curls in my arms and
legs and mouth at
night. Or braiding this
cheap scotch tape and
tinfoil umbilical
cord that conducts nightmares
thru to my already
wrinkled dreams
making me
cobra twist in
my night
making me
keep one ear
cocked for screams one
eye open for the
rise slash fall of
the chest next to mine.
Don’t remember
(no I don’t remember)
any of the liquid:
the tears, the blood, the fluid shredding
that must have soaked sheets and
mattress thru to
the floor
when you kicked
scratched clawed back into
the jungle tropic of my body. Now
the ceiling of the apartment below must be
pockmarked with my swishy scents. Here
you are though, night
after day after yet
another night suckling
at a core of
heat nibbling at my
skin
lapping nursing
gold love and a chunk of
soul coiling
yourself into
nooks cocooning You around
Me
until I have no choice but to
feed love warm you as if
you really were mine.
Dina Honour is an American writer living in Copenhagen, Denmark with her husband, two sons, and a just completed first novel. Her fiction, poetry and non-fiction have appeared in magazines such as Hippocampus and Typehouse Literary and Paste. She blogs about relationships and viewing the US from the outside in at Wine and Cheese (Doodles) http://www.wineandcheesedoodles.com. You can find here there, on FB or @DinaHonour.
Devilfish Review 