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
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