HALOS
by Julia Eng
but the thought is no longer
blackberry……blackberry..blackberry…………………………….
IT is in fact a more solemn disembodiment
of a mere flesh of nature its
smallness a testament to miniature life
and stunted growth.
PEA-sized squeeze. dime-shaped
dollop.
your baby is the size of
a small clementine today.
it was once a matter of “tell me when”
and now a matter of—
WHEN i say clementine
my mind gestures to that hazy
idea which hangs in the corner
like i learned it from books and never real
life thus i fumble,
and mispronounce
like the name Hermione or
the word eponymous.
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IF God loves me, he has
made me unloveable to all not as punishment
but just because
he loves me more.
IF i did bad things to my dolls
it was always those who
and
who were my favorite
for they taught me the cost of
love must not cost you
your two-tailed,
split-ended heartiness.
THEY say that all of the babies who
die go to hell because they are born
with that fruit fallen sin of
eve’s pink ladden breast but they sit only
at the periphery
or the crust of the pie kept
warm and quiet,
their return to a foreign
womb.
and if i love words then it is such a terrible feeling
when clementine is just not enough to tell me anything about anyone
like about you stepping out of the shower in a grand mist of fairy sweat
or the itching of the grass needles
or about being left at the bottom of the purse.
it lends only the courtesy of a notion
that clementine
well clementine means
it means that
and that cryptic lung
breathing us in
like the embrace of a lone
graveyard tree
breathing life and
dropping
heavy fruit
IF i have never been one for praying
then my hands will pray that your gait with a rain