the blueshift journal

                 inspired by Neo Rauch

​

I have skinned 60 grapes to make this dress,

borrowed velvet from the chapel’s tongue,

boiled mother’s blackberries into holy water,

convinced a man there are purple mangoes

to be thrown into the stream, loved petals

enough to press them, too. Told child breasts

are for shifting winds. Declared the navel

of every firstborn a bijoux. Sat on a thorn,

pulled vines from my mouth. Drank Sister

Bedalm’s prune juice from the bottom  lip

of Father. Stolen elder in urn to sand down

houses. Found honey in buss of pyramid

so sandburned it bled gold. Told sky all

my secrets in knee languages. Conceived a child

in my wrist, the right one. Bled legs into vino,

and twisted my hips free of earth.

At the edge of every breath is a man trying to touch

me. I grew a strand of hair every time someone died.

I have never felt so beautiful.