Inflammation

Avondale Kendja

credit: Lai Man Nung

a beauty

Lips full (not mine)

Wheaty hair (not high or cropped)

a thump rebounds from long-ago days of Me-Mime stuffing

patches seen spotted on my head—she mocks them

and bloats me through fault lines where the stamp of her darkens

over folds itself into veils—ungenially

a peer over the breakages, my copy

whispers bold dust into my ear

as her hair flies about——useless wings 

—The micro fuzz of a pale peach unconsumed—

in a tongue curled as eyes close, browned

wisps of joy seem to find a way into that ancient pool

I don’t do much besides wave back the bare shape beneath Noble pride

steaming out of an era of steel walls contoured

with dull shards

in rings swallowing over

to catch, trap—disappear my envious

orphan—looming over me—wagging its fingers 

as the friendly rasp of a lid above eclipses my eye