She’s been holding
a secret to the ground, we heard
it knocking in the night. At daybreak
she demands pails of water,
plates of meat, then our absence.
Strong through she is, her secret
sweats her. From view
we vanish, a sea of thin
colorless smiles. She has shaved
us, we are spotted
with blood. Our snarl we save
for each other: lick your own
wounds. But our language is leaving.
If she swings a bag of black
lips, our metronomic eyes
follow. In sleep our memory
uncurls: if we give her a drop
to drink it can’t be long before
her tongue begins to wag.
Day breaks us
and we’re no longer
certain. For stale bones we seize
each other’s throats. For the traitor
will we ever stop crawling?
Tags: corinna, corinna ricard-farzan, crawl, follow, lips, poem, poetry, secret, traitor
