Cable and silk.

They brush their burnt hands over mine.

What is living without a little flint and honey?

I wash in a broken sink.

My hair feels like wax between my fingers

And so I slip

Out into the midnight woods.

I gather my possessions till I'm holy.

Can you feel the wicker flute blow

Amongst the fox trees?

Harriet called,

She said that my condolences had been received

My absences retired from memory

Now, all myself within, out I feel lost

In obsequiousness

I am forever found

'Till then

My heart encased in amber molasses

Sits upon the darkest stone upon the hearth

For good and yet for better and yet for worst

I churn the butter (Bake the bread)

I left you first.





© Leila Kadar