by Darcie DeAngelo
That gush of liquid
Trembling in cold pearly hands.
The king poured
on the edge
of an electric mirror
And she threw its shards at me,
Scratched the skin off someone’s face,
Marking lines and ownership.
The crawl of my blood: her signature.
I am not erased.
In my northern bone mug
Soups still stir,
Can still feel
Those hero palms clutch
Worming strands that
Perseus and Medusa
by Johannes Hevelius
Tall white peak of a woman, hairs like angels smeared
Atop a netherworld cliff,
Held up her victim.
My image: diamond crusted bluebrilliant in the midst of crashed monies.
My hands smooth skinned more fat filled than hers,
Long tips finished in perfect pearl points,
I would pulverize
This dying, this rotting, this fried
She yelled at sea men.
Revenge was a reflection danced
on the sky studs,
in star chains,
by star killer.
And they wrote
My star words: self-portrait runes carved in cracked ice,
Light will hit
You’ll see me in that.
They do not think of
(only its results: a toddler’s dream bird and a twin brother soldier)
It sways in the father ocean,
As seething breath floats into my room and slides slime over pores.
It waits below,
Arms above a headless torso.
Watch for the tear down my marble nose.
Single rosebud of pain, tiny mosquito of lust withheld. Too frozen to remove. It stays.
Caught in reflective
Copyright © 2003, Darcie DeAngelo
Darcie DeAngelo lives and studies in Massachusetts, specifically, social anthropology and romance languages at Harvard University. She wishes to someday have a homepage so she can link it but right now people will have to be satisfied with this bio-blurb that explains she is a lifeguard and a layout editor for one of the university magazines. Her work has appeared in Portals, the Kisses for Kids anthology. She has a short story forthcoming in the fall issue of Aoife's Kiss.
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Image courtesy of Istituto di Fisica Generale Applicata, Università degli Studi di Milano