Sarah Lawrence
Sketches // mantras
The scene is newborn, inside
Out. The path
Is swallowed now. You
Could forget it, gouged
Down virgin valley with faux
Fingernail. I sit
On scar tissue.
Shadows stripe
The ground. Here they are swaying
Pools. Here they are polka-dots.
The stone panting. The lichen
Giggling. The wind in waves, soft
Hands. I & trees & river.
We are all hairs, ruffled.
Dead leaf is man, is
Dancer, is stretched & wrapped
In spiderweb. He swings his slow
Trapeze, twists his
Sinewed body in pendulum, mouth agape &
Stuffed. He is just decor. Below
The forest smiles. She sweats out
A stream. I thought I knew
What you meant, when
Your hands were wet & when
Your hands were full of green.
I see now you were describing
Something else entirely.
//
What belongs to me will simply
Find me. There are always jokes
To sell. Things happen once. Or
Many times. There are always
Dishes, somewhere. Find them
Down your armchair. Your armpit.
An army. There will be war, but
Only in an abstract way. There will be
Clouds, dripping, like the juice
Of a watermelon. I said that I am lonely.
The sun is a lollipop man, flailing.
The earth is a plate we are wiping clean.
Everything is as it is meant
To be. The chicken
Crosses the road & into
A new dimension. Voices
Pepper & dissolve. The space
Between branches is
White with oblivion. I cough my heart
Out through my throat. I said that
I am lonely. To fill a cup &
Empty. Oblivion becomes
Routine. I said that I am
Lonely. White is no
Colour. Teach me to say
The future. Teach me
Sarah Lawrence is a confused law student. You can find her work in Landfall 241 and Starling Issue 11.