Workshop
Comments are very much welcome. I feel like this poem is just a different take on idiosyncharctic love affairs. Trash? or Tailor and then keep?
On Preparing The Bells
Lola was chiming my name through the hallway.
From the slit in my wall, something
out of keeping my door ajar,
her wrinkly head slid
into my room. She asked, her voice sweet and wobbly,
if I could peel the bell peppers for a salad
she was making for lolo's party.
Then, smiled
then slid out.
I lazed towards the kitchen.
The peppers lay in a china bowl.
In my fingers, they felt wet and supple,
Peeled and cut into slivers, they swam
like the limbs of a baby girl, parts
of a vessel of red blood,
released from its sheath,
good enough to eat.
Sink your teeth, the slivers said.
(The light from the cieling giving off the illusion of pearl)
How could I? Someone has already made a salad of me.
On Preparing The Bells
Lola was chiming my name through the hallway.
From the slit in my wall, something
out of keeping my door ajar,
her wrinkly head slid
into my room. She asked, her voice sweet and wobbly,
if I could peel the bell peppers for a salad
she was making for lolo's party.
Then, smiled
then slid out.
I lazed towards the kitchen.
The peppers lay in a china bowl.
In my fingers, they felt wet and supple,
Peeled and cut into slivers, they swam
like the limbs of a baby girl, parts
of a vessel of red blood,
released from its sheath,
good enough to eat.
Sink your teeth, the slivers said.
(The light from the cieling giving off the illusion of pearl)
How could I? Someone has already made a salad of me.