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Soft-Willed Storms

giselle linder

the apartment goes dark when the wind batters the windows

and the building shakes with the echoes of distant trains

my weary bones break in the bed

in the place where a blue sky never came

and when I open my eyes all it ever does is rain

and in the slow silence between soft-willed storms

I swear I can hear you calling my name


if you took your time to feel how tender they are

I believe I would stop bruising the flesh of my knees

I believe I could sing the lioness living by my door to sleep

if only you’d let me

the days bleed together in late winter marriages


I forget to move, I forget to speak


I fall asleep hungry and wake up scared, singe my skin

when it aches for you

and run my own fingers over the wave of my hair

we can’t be lovers here

but maybe we would be lovers elsewhere


and if I’m running to that place I want so madly

I promise I won’t go scared

I won’t take the time to look back

I won’t waste my breathless prayers

the edges of my life keep getting soaked through

with February rain

and I’m scarcely satisfied by calling out for the sun


I’m afraid to be the one left looking out

the windows of my body when all is said

and all is done

heavy is the head

and heavy is the tongue

The Glass Auditorium

the glass auditorium echoes

with unearthly silence

waiting for someone to accept

their loneliness with grace


or with enough rage

to entertain


with shaking knees

I take the shaken laurel leaves

I take the stage


the triumph is never reached

and is always the same


my church bell voice

rings out to empty crowds –


holy is the degenerate holy is the depressant holy is the adulterer

holy is the ouroboros of pain we weave round and round one another

and the secret flesh chased in cheap imitation of forever


holy is my endless depth of forgiveness which I bestow upon nobody


holy is the ruse blessed be the bruise

that I blacken for the betterment of my tortured strings

the harp is a crying woman bent

blessed be the way she sings


blessed be the burnt paper that wishes us well

holy be the crematorium into which we fell

burning up side-by-side

praying for some darkness to blot out this light

while the last sun we’ll ever see streams through

unending glass panes

though it all ends the same

with the slow soft removal

of neck name and shoes

and the loss of something truthful

the last thing I had to say


well, now even my shadow is walking away


holy be the dress that like a wave of water

slides from the skin

blessed be that which is not but is called sin

blessed be the harassment blessed be the embarrassment

which culminates in that whirlpool of shame

blessed be the bed holy be the head

where they manifested their fantasies

though that’s all they remained

holy be the men who laughed at my fears

and then enacted them onto my body

holy be the dead weight they carry

and the ghosts that they marry


I am not done with the resisting

and the resisting is not done with me

exquisite agony

blessed be


holy be the hands such as these

reaching out for a peace never received

regardless

blessed be the need


I rid myself of every hair on my head

I rid myself of ease

my patella rolls out with a piano shout

and clatters somewhere on the floor


I have more I have more


holy be the spine

and everything I wish was mine

blessed be my need to please

which takes me further

than I ever could have envisioned

yes, it takes me further and further

away from me


holy be the head

my head instead

with flights of fancy that never stay dormant and gone

I dreamt the auditorium and

the dream like a road to hell goes on

and on

the last of me some torso some legs

parades for a room which hums like bees

one marionette arm raises after the other

death as the final strip-tease

 I am an Australian-born poet and actress currently based in Paris, France. My debut poetry collection, 'City Gothic', was released September 2023 by indie press Dark Thirty Poetry Publishing, and my work can also be found in various publications such as Dusk Magazine, Sorry! Zine and Querencia Press. I am heavily inspired by gothic literature, old Hollywood films and confessional poetry.

 

Instagram: @lawdymsclawdy.

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