Phoned - Copy

By Alicia Khoo

I was washed up
at sea, shell cocoon
born of tiger and lamb

sand that
came out my nostrils blew
into glass, amber, fossils with bees
collecting nectar
trapped in remembering
and forgetting

When my father hands me his eyes
I burn them into
the palms of my hands
yellow, ochre, gold
He puts me on a cliff of eagles
I jump

Horns of Babel and civilizations
trumpet and spill into the ocean
onto shore as people, ships
and gardens
Commerce comes pouring out
My father runs, my mother follows
into highlands, cries into canyons
she cannot find him

It’s not as easy as it seems,
they bellow

I wipe earth off my face and pull out twigs
from the soft of my heel
I hear them
I feel ridges of wings pushing
through flesh and skin
like wisdom teeth
My shoulder blades bleed and
baptize daisies into birth,
I open my mouth wide and sing.

Honeycomb drips off my fingers,
we eat, we eat, we throw ourselves off bridges,
we rush forward and our faces appear as stars
drumming like hammers into the black nothing of nails.

Loose

Loosen,

my oldest friend.

We are blooming into mountains, into shrines.

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