I do not breathe longer
than the counts of your name.
When teeth meet tongue,
will my lover
translate me insane?
Kissed under Godโs black belly,
we dim the Moon with ignited chest.
Spectacle of want floating aimlesslyโuntil he
wears my nightgown and mixes
Infantโs design with Inventorโs mind.
We lay unphased by biased Fate
as if idle wind mangled pain
and endurance into one breath
and flew us across the astral plane.
We are the last sun rays
that glimmer at the sight of ourselves.
The light still dies in the chest of darkness.
Nature dares to rhyme our cruel obligations
with time. My Motherโs Climbโ
Lonelyโnot enough
to bore a child
when all the world
caught in a downward
gaze.
Lonelyโnot enough
to bore a child
when all the world
stores hate in the Motherโs womb
and it becomes my Mother
wound.
Step outside
and experience
the way your eyes
keep the Golden hues hostage
and water the war of the Old Fashion
flowers.
We cannot hold you here.
Grace Hagan is a fourth-year English major at the University of Calgary currently working as a non-profit writer at The Gauntlet, a student-led journal on campus and is the Director of Newsletter and Website at FASA (Faculty of Arts Studentsโ Association) where she annotates poetry. Grace Hagan has publishing prospects in short-fiction and aims to publish predominantly horror in prose and prosody.
