Creative Writing – Porridge

ONE POEM – María Paula Currás

I’m a mess
A profaner of tombs
Devoted to graves
Except mine.

we kiss good-bye;
I wait for the kettle to boil. I am
happily waiting.

Pieces of me are escaping
through the pores
in the skin
of this room

I sleep on the left side of the bed
so you can be on the right
the soft drum of your snore
signaling peaceful dreams
making me smile

From prawn to prawn
the rib dries
unbleached,
aching this unbaked line:

yesterday blew
like a wind

tell me the main differences between salt and nothing.
i will tell you the similarities. i will tell you i need both.

A scream is trapped under my third rib where they perch on
like a perilous branch. I daydream of
You: hands on my throat
me: telling you I love you

Erin hesitates, watching. The old woman is there again, sitting on the swingset overlooking the valley

what it would be like to be a skeleton.

what would happen if each dermal layer melted into the air
& my red stop light flesh went with it
without so much as a snap, crackle or pop?

love is not you but a driving beat disguised in fast-moving glamour

You make a landscape with tiny things
Turn late-night buns into morning seas