Mare Zebras in floral rain-coats
flood past Sir Ladyfinger’s ship.
I had never seen so many stripes
Hunkering past the local skirt-shop.
And so my shoes garbled out few vowels to
Hot with pregnancy
Of neither pink nor blue.
I chewed on sea-apples and grew up an Eve.
Started tying serpents on my neck for boardroom-meetings.
Lended my fingernails
to a knight upon a sea-horse–
off to the colour-bind land
to wear frolicking babies;
one on the basin
The other on the stove.
Until a mismatched rainbow hatched the monochrome ground
From where I broke
To birth myself again
Art: Arnold Böcklin, Villa am Meer
In a sea
Larking in Lurking
Melancholia—my sea song
So many subtle screeches
Pluck the weeds out of my hair
I have to be somewhere else
A place with no-one else
Perhaps under the sea
I no longer want to be me
I put a hand inside my lungs
Give it a saviour plunge
Let the sorrow leak
Death is a water-imagery
Why one must cry, if they should?
To whom they must cry, if indeed they should?
When I cry to a star
The stars don’t see me
They have eyes for million other babies
Bloody hands and a homeless bed
So I said
So I sung
Like the letter ‘S’
I’m an unfinished
Only sea must–
if it should
Only sea must–
if it could
I have these strings tied so deep
I break my hands just to reach
Past an ocean that held my tides
With an island made of threads and fabrics.
I am rowing silently
I see a lighthouse near my home
But is it really my home.
Where is my home?
So I etched a boat upon these tides
For there will be never a home till I ride,
these mountain-like magical seas.
And should I loose my way again,
I’ll untie these strings
all over again.