Seasoning /
Liquid beds
silently expand the way ivory stockpiles, the way the balloon wouldn’t burst
however many times you bounced on it and I kept saying it would because,
as we would see,
I was wrong. You keep bouncing anyway; only you can know what your body
demands. The bluebell hangs its drooping head as if to focus
on itself. The only treasure I’ll ever have is the
functioning of my
is you until
you’re gone. Raw leaves, even spinach―all worryingly wild.
The idea of
letting anything inside, even light. Some like it raw, without any kind of
seasoning. Plain rice absorbing water like tears let down into pillows in the night. The threat of anything but us
trying to take back land.
Some people have
booming elephant populations they’d rather not come in to contact
with. Can’t sell them on because people without elephants are telling people
with too many elephants what to do with their elephants:
it’s not on. I
say do what your belly tells you, look in, not out. Firmly insert the magazine.
The elephants can take care of themselves. Don’t be shy. Take
what you need, not what you want.
Lydia Unsworth is the
author of two collections of poetry: Certain Manoeuvres (KFS, 2018) and Nostalgiafor Bodies (Winner, 2018 Erbacce Poetry Prize), and two chapbooks: My Body in a Country (Ghost City Press, 2019) and I Have Not Led a SeriousLife (above / ground press, 2019). Her latest chapbook will be released by
KFS Press in 2020. Recent work can be found in Ambit, para.text, Tears
in the Fence, Banshee, Blackbox Manifold and others.
Manchester / Amsterdam. Twitter: @lydiowanie
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