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THREE 
POEMS


EMMA
MACKILLIGIN








1. OYSTERS

 


The first time I ate oysters
was with you & you
watched as I tilted my head
& swallowed the slime
& I laughed at the salt
on my insides
because I like salt & you
laughed too
because I didn’t vomit.



The first time
        with you & you
watched as I
  swallowed the slime
&   laughed at the salt
on my insides
                             & 
laughed 
              I didn’t vomit.



The         time 
                         you

                      tilted my head
                    the slime
                        the salt

     my insides
                            you
laughed 
                I         vomit.



2. I DON’T KNOW HOW TO CLOTHE THIS LOVING BODY




          *

Since this morning I have lain here
almost naked on your leopard print
avoiding eye contact with appliances.
   
           *

I have so many ideas about the things that I’m not.

           *

My body floats somewhere around.

           *

People don’t really want to know about it.

           *

Why is it that loved ones place so much weight?

            *

I blame photos of myself       & other women.

            *

Is it possible to exchange memory for tightness?

            *

When I was small-scale I didn't know how to love.

            *

Now I am enormous.

            *

It’s easy to forget which parts are temporary.

            *

There is nothing I want more.

            *

Oh, baby, what should I be aiming at?

            *

All I really want is to be admired.



3. INTERIM




I heard a light bulb  
described as a solid piece of light  
& all I could think of were the filaments  
vibrating  
squirrel caged & possessing  
some kind of liquidity like that  
of this moment in which I'm standing  
on this floor & not the one above
searching
for my reflection in the taps & in the light bulbs  
as I tilt my chin upwards. Lately  
I tend to study limbs 
in search of hard lines  
& tight angles  
to justify a recent fear  
of disappearing elbows. I've also taken to biting
that lip between two fingers
& wondering if the flesh
will swallow the joint while I
avoid the full length
& think of how I'd like to own things
like a crocheted swimsuit
& a jar of maraschino cherries.





Emma Mackilligin is a poet and woman. She lives in London.



2017.