Monday, May 18, 2009

Skin by Chella Courington

geckos, iridescent-white
zigzag on the ceiling
lick their way clear
humming fan blades
cut hot air
never sever scales
they’re harmless
there’s nothing we can do
please don’t call the desk

there were snake skins
dry diaphanous coils
grandmother turned inside out
one for each child born before forty
stitched seven across
hung over a black walnut bed
pendulous skins tapped
when a door opened
and someone pulled down a cover

at night
geckos eat the skin
they shed
leave nothing behind
i watch the plump one
in the corner
puffy belly rising
and falling on each cry
my own stomach round
in union undulating

published in _Not A Muse_, Eds. Kate Rogers & Vicki Holmes
Hon Kong: New Haven Books, 2009.

1 comment:

Allison said...

the IMAGERY in this poem blew me away. i really admire your beautiful voice.. congratulations on your mfa! you're an amazing mentor to have, there is no end to what you will do. i am still writing on my blog, history of lovers. a lot lately in lieu of having any other responsibilities! huzzah summer