i
should I name her
after nature
she’d be the blackest tulip
one made by trial and error
by pretentious Victorians
ii
in the milkiest light
her cheeks resembled
firm fruit
and if she held
her mouth open
sometimes shadows
could be seen sliding
below the peachy bone
iii
although she
couldn’t remember
where she started
exactly
she knew the semi-shrivelled
blades resting on her shoes;
the rips and grooves
of the air around her
and she knew she was
more than half way there









9 old applause
