TWO POEMS by Nissa Lee • Cleaver Magazine
TWO POEMS by Nissa Lee BEFORE GOING OUT after a painting by Fuco Ueda I. About one in every 10,000 doe-eyed girls grow horns. These rare creatures enjoy drawing lines in the dirt and leaping over them for play. When thirsty, they pause to taste wild berries— delight in their shades of purple, delight in their skins’ momentary resistance. In other girls, the horns hide just beneath the scalp. II. Until this girl sheds the woolly uniform and socks down to her cool skin nothing seems right. She itches. Her black hairs spark. III. Antlers clatter on the ground. A friend dangles her feet over the bed, deliberating which pairs make them look best. Pulse flickers at the possibility of fingertips pressed to her temples, to those bones, heavy ornaments pulled from mother’s wardrobe just for play. IV. They do not know the implications of their jewelry— the conquest, the … chop! chop! read more!
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