Erasure

Tuesday, November 13, 2018 - 6:41pm

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Courtesy of the author

No one ever returns from intimacy whole.

We always leave a part of ourselves

 

in the crux of another person’s history,

a bookend to their yesterday.

 

Here lies the flesh,

its youth pulled taut,

 

and here is the tongue which conquers it.

In my dreams, I am

 

a gentle noise

rolling through the countryside,

 

catching stories on my limbs.

I am my mother’s child

 

until the sound of a foreign boy

takes down an entire village.

 

A spark of lust

or maybe just curiosity

 

gone wrong.

The white of the flames so perfect

 

I can almost rewrite my family’s past.

His heat begins to

 

dissolve the tension in my chest,

erase the color

 

with which I was born,

so I put out his light

 

before it can claim me, too.

After all,

 

what good is a body

that is no longer a home?