Monday, 12 November 2018

A poem by Marisa Silva-Dunbar


A person is not a battle.
If you are already raging war
against a lover—they must scorch
the earth to survive whatever
terror you want to bring
to their home.

Poison isn’t always accompanied
by a pungent smell and warning sign—
a picture of how it will eat away flesh and organ.

Sometimes it arrives in pretty
glittering bottles with sharp edges
to blind you when you push it away.

Sometimes it’s swift as dust, and shiny
as piece of glass in sunlight, it’ll seep
into your chest until you lay in bed
one night and find you can’t breathe.

Your fighting is flattery,
but they have already sought
safer harbors—havens you don’t
even know how to dream of.

Maybe you were never the poison
(but let’s not kid ourselves),
but you never learned how to be the antidote.

Marisa Silva-Dunbar’s work has been published in Rose Quartz Journal, Awkward Mermaid, Spider Mirror Journal, Mojave He[art] Review, Anti-Heroin Chic Magazine, Poetry WTF?!, Better than Starbucks Magazine, Redheaded Stepchild, Words Dance Magazine and Gargoyle Magazine. She graduated from the University of East Anglia with her MA in poetry, and has been shortlisted twice for the Eyewear Publishing Fortnight Poetry Prize. She has work forthcoming in Mojave He[art] Review, Sixfold, Pussy Magic, Midnight-lane Boutique, and The Same

No comments:

Post a comment