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Literature Text
xiii. misfortune
my lover says,
"breaking mirrors is seven years of bad luck"
so we do not have
any mirrors in our house,
and check our appearance
in each other's eyes.
my lover says,
"a black cat crossing your path is not good"
so we have a dog
and no cat, and i make
sure to shoo the neighbour's
kitten away so my lover doesn't see
the shadow in our garden.
my lover says,
"opening an umbrella inside is bringing the bad luck inside"
so we both use raincoats
and the soaked floor is no
longer a problem, because we're
both soaked to the bone.
my lover tries to ward off bad luck,
because all the bad luck my lover needs is me.
my lover says,
"breaking mirrors is seven years of bad luck"
so we do not have
any mirrors in our house,
and check our appearance
in each other's eyes.
my lover says,
"a black cat crossing your path is not good"
so we have a dog
and no cat, and i make
sure to shoo the neighbour's
kitten away so my lover doesn't see
the shadow in our garden.
my lover says,
"opening an umbrella inside is bringing the bad luck inside"
so we both use raincoats
and the soaked floor is no
longer a problem, because we're
both soaked to the bone.
my lover tries to ward off bad luck,
because all the bad luck my lover needs is me.
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Literature
fabled life
i.
she talks through her wrinkles,
'i have no desire for food', she says.
i take her plate to the kitchen
noticing how the beetroot shavings bled into the skin of the chicken and brown rice.
it was blood, skin, and bone,
and the rice was a million starlike cells floating between.
this reminds me of my anatomy textbook:
we've been learning what's beneath our skin,
we learned that all cells divide. some cells often don't stop dividing.
other cells divide and stop when they should...
but not my grandmother's.
starlike, they explode, they shatter, they consume
they divide.
ii.
i want to be mad at my grandmother's cells,
but what would that do?
i
Literature
wednesday's child
it is the third of october
and i am building a castle for us
out of feathers, bird bones,
ocean waves and library book pages.
anything to keep our feet from
touching the ground.
you are sin, he whispers
and his fingers trail cold fire
down my side, scorching flesh
and freezing bone;
brittle pieces of me shatter
as they hit the stained linoleum floor.
don't wake me from this nightmare.
i whisper a nursery rhyme
as i walk down our
autumn path.
kamikaze leaves fall, trailing
fire as they throw themselves from
the branches, down, down,
to cold pavement below.
your words echo in my mind
a constant reminder
that i am sin
but you,
you were
ne
Literature
Paper-Thin Promises
the first time I caught sight of your
glistening, marble eyes,
I decided you disgust me.
I hate you the way I hate perfection:
merciless, like the snap of mantis jaws.
every fact of you is pretentious,
held high like you raise a middle finger.
You, the artist, always sculpting things,
tried to squeeze my malleable heart like white clay
and stash it in your pocket to rattle with stones.
paint me an unflinching self portrait, my dear:
this skyscraper of a boy shaking with anticipation
to build and destroy, build and destroy.
you sink in tooth and talon at first mention of beauty,
love-biting Aphrodite as though you were equals.
you're a statu
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100themechallenge 13: misfortune
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