Moe Clark. feeding the hole

between supple fingers
she holds thin
paper birch bark skin
smooth and chalky
residue white
on fingertips

piece by piece
she feeds the hole
sinking coiled bark into centre
she feeds amber flame
spiraling up from dark

beneath flame
crackling tongues whisper
hold still
burn deeper
and beyond their voices
another and beyond

their stories wrap like skin
drawing up her collarbone then neck
resonant, hugging close
slowly they circle her jaw, cheek, skull
heat penetrates
in a sucking motion
pulling her skin tighter
like a drum

melting echoes
at the edge of her eyelids
descend earthward in prayer
she sits in the glowing
gently drawing inwards

fire heart


Moe Clark
Texte publié dans le No.23 iskwêwomxn


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