I’ve been reading a lot this past while, or trying to. So have many of us - first distanced and then locked down, my Twitter feed is full of people tackling the weightiest tomes on their to be read pile.
It is a kind of dark serendipity that a book about (amongst other things) what it means to live and create at the mercy of time and measured productivity – what Baume calls “the terrible responsibility” – should be launched in the midst of an international pandemic.
You, with teeth and white boredom,tangled in my sheets, your fingers stuffed inside, as though you think I might enjoy it. I pretend to be a hollowed-out tree, bear-furred around the wound, yourprofile reminding me of old grievancesrattling around my head like loose teeth. I hate the coldness of your lips on myindifferent skin. My body sinks back in … Continue reading White Boredom
Your name was Antoinette, and you didn’t belong.
I was bored of playing games, so we made our not-so-subtle excuses and went to your flat.
I wish I could begin a painting of her. I grabbed a paint brush. Too bad, I'm just a poet with clumsy hands. I figured out her paradox, The girl who can suffuse La Dolce Vita, Bringing colors and sweet scents to a nondescript workplace, also has the blatant appeal of a Chiaroscuro art composition. Here I am, sitting on the … Continue reading Ayesha (2)
Reviewed by Terri-Jane Dow | “The Witch is dead,” proclaims the blurb of Fernanda Melchor’s incredible (and incredibly violent) Hurricane Season.
Sure, I would paint my skin Into a colorless color, & I would dye my hair Wear two blue contacts, & I would even Go for plastic surgery, but if I really do I assure you, I will not remove my native village Accent while speaking this foreign tongue (I began To imitate like a … Continue reading Musings over Metamorphosis
The sun marked him as her own while he was still young and tender, a naive fisherman living in a wattle and daub shack by the sea.
If I could be anyone in the whole wide world, I would be nightclub toilet me.