be the succubus, dark-eyed,
moths alighting on her flesh:
asylum is such a vulgar word for shelter.
i am rigid, and softer than i wish,
tearing up hands in glass.
my clothes are held together
by tepid water;
they’re only clothes.
my skin is sharp
sequin; my tendons solid gold
the shape of flowers.
exhilaration or repulsion,
tenderness or vitriol bloody my hands.
my clothes are rolling clouds
that guess the shape of a woman.
Avonlea Fotheringham is an Ottawa poet, publisher, and a former co-editor of In/Words Magazine and Press. She competed with Capital Slam to place in semi-finals at the 2014 Canadian Festival of Spoken Word, and has performed in Ottawa, Toronto, Guelph, and Victoria, BC. Her work has been published by (parenthetical), The Steel Chisel, phafours press and others. In 2015, she joined Verse Ottawa as Festival Administrator, and founded her poetry press, Hussy.
the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan