Poem for My Name
Your body stained the dead sea, a smothering
Of red algae.
I could season our conversations like Sigurd
The fat let him listen to the crows
All the marrow I ate should let me.
Your words torn from a blackbird’s beak.
I could charm the crows until they turn
To oil lamps.
The shadow play they cast, bringing
All your prayers back to me.
They might sound better backlit.
Make cardinal’s bones into candlesticks.
It will smell like beeswax and look like
Vasilisa walking through the forest.
The house has chicken feet
And the scene the candles cast
Crawls across the yard.
There’s a pine tree that marks your sternum
All the skin that stretched across it
Grew so tight it tore to the bones beneath.
I could sell
The bird’s beaks.
A sinner’s worth of late-night conversations
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Ava is a Te Pātaka-o-Rākaihautū | Banks Peninsula based poet, student, and amateur cartoonist. She generally writes poems for the sea and ennui. She has been published in Bad Apple and performed at the 2022 Christchurch Word Festival.