Poem by Erin Reardon

Female or Artery

This is a silvery lining for a silvery moon
Pussy, guts, flames and games
Futility bears no fruit, no flowers
Hard-pressed in a photo album of elapsed contrition
Gossamer and delicate
These wings were made of myth
It’s hard to pretend you’re a butterfly
When you were hatched a gypsy moth
Or to evolve from only sepia to peacock, paisley, green
Fly to the light and you’ll fry outright…

Apathy is a surprisingly compatible bedfellow
But then stranger things have happened
In ways of sincerity, this girl once dreamed passionately
that she was extra-sensory
Receptive physically and spiritually
But only to negative reinforcements
And with this she fell to her knobby, awkward
And ever repentant knees
She’ll look up to you
And drink you dry….

Preventative measures cannot protect you
From diseases of the heart, the mind
And scars and tattoos cannot shield you
From spiteful words or time travel
Some people do
but never you
And that is where she lost the battle
Before you ever cried out for a war…

And this dream of perfection
Runs red up her thigh in condescension
Each beat of melting heart
Is like a thousand burning drum circles
It will only hurt in this lifetime
It will only hurt forever…

Until you slice diagonally
As if to sever what makes her she
As if to sever
A female or artery.

 

© Allison Goldin
© Allison Goldin

 

Erin Reardon is a sometimes poet. She sucks at writing bios.

Allison Goldin is an artist living in Cambridge. Her work is a collection of spontaneous drawings from the imagination. The most common link throughout her art are the semi-recognizable creatures scattered amongst and bringing together the surrounding doodles. She is currently studying Illustration at The School of Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.

 

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