We sharpened branches into swords with
steak knives,
Balanced them for our sapling arms
And fought, with vigor,
Boldly, showing all our teeth
With physicality that felt only natural,
Which is not to say that we were good,
Nobody is good in the beginning.
In a moment of grace, I knocked his sword
aside,
Jabbed too hard into his solar plexus,
felt the soft give, like wet earth
They say it protects the heart, you know,
and that’s why it hurts so bad
The trust ran out of his face like first blood, I
almost heard the rush
It left him white and stricken, gasping like a fish.
Men put armor on their bellies, cover up
the soft, I guess, because of incidents like
this
I had the urge but not the facility to comfort him,
smooth back his tawny-owl hair, and
other unspeakable things
The woman’s touch, the marriage grease
Incapable of such a balm, I stared, in rare
quiet
His eyes were wet and green
I could see my reflection in their hurt,
A child.
-Evy Lemieux
You have piled your spires high with ghosts
Layers of whispers and glances, wails
and humble patronage, long gone
Even looking, my spine bends double under
the weight
I am unborn,
Even breathing,
I am bones in the dirt
Awake for only a moment.
-Evy Lemieux