one poem by Zara Alice

It won’t stop raining here

End;

of a season or a piece of string

angel;

waist or wrist a bit thin

orange;

autumn heaving or hesitation

morning;

song or lifted execration

the head hums

recitation of hymns in assembly hall

choppy voice

yet unbroken, sea yet to open

they say heaven

is a fist in chest, a fit of unrest

they say heart speaks best

but I have two, neither knew rest

so a thunder

(dropped pan, hot oil electric)

elected

to lick the bowl dry, and I

(curved waist, blade)

have never been any wiser

have whittled

block muscle, hips wider

and I

shrike femur, walls sepia

have never

tilted my head back, felt rain enter

you know

those small parts of the body

where we hide shards of glass

our center