Published September 15th, 2024
Montreal Poetry Magazine Contest #1 – First Place
by Ana Maria Vioculet
The horns grow the way
breasts do, budding
swollen dusk stains. Flat-chested,
I asked the doctor if it's a bug-bite,
a mosquito bite,
from staying out too late,
a flea bite from bringing
all those strays home. For letting them
sleep in my bed. A bite, a burn
right where my heart is.
The doctor looked
at grandma, as if to say:
Didn't you tell her?
About how things bloom.
About the sourness
of green apricots, already living
and worming inside me.
How the horns are little
seashells under my hair, hot stones
in the rain. The horns are
rough tree bark and they splinter
in my scalp. They smell of
earth. They tear.
Lucifer should know but he isn't
a mother. He says, Meet Eva. Call her
first-mother. Sleep with your head
on her breast. See how
warm she is. The searing cold
when I ripped my tongue off
on a frozen metal pole for applause.
I don't want warmth. I don't want
the heat of shame. To be a weaker,
dumber Lilith. A little lover,
a doe-eyed angel.
Eva won't feed me
the apple from her mouth. Can I touch it
with my fingers? I want what lurks
in the interior, the woman. I want to taste it
with my burned tongue. Will it heal?
Must I mend? I won't beg. Maybe just
a little. Eva, you wouldn't know the horns
hurt like a tightening throat, like gums
bursting with bigger teeth.
I want to gnaw. Give me
a chew-toy for my mind.
The horns are bloody, slick
with viscous yellow. I scratch, I bend,
I degenerate. Drag my forehead
against the wall for ease. I stomp
my feet, pull my toes
to stand – a foal learning
to live with its new
smell. Tell me, why I don't smell
of spring. Eva, tell me you have
teeth. Let me feel
how sharp they are.
I know you want
to watch me
grow.
About the Poet
Ana Maria Vioculet resides in Mont-Royal, Quebec, Canada.
Read the poet's biography on Ana Maria Vioculet's Artist Page.
This poem is also featured in Wax Poetry and Art Magazine #5,
published in the Wax Poetry and Art Library.
Previously published in Montreal Poetry Magazine:
A plump dungeon
by Elisabeth Blair
Montreal Poetry Magazine is part of the Wax Poetry and Art Network.
- Visit the main Wax Poetry and Art Submissions Page to see all opportunities.
- Visit the Wax Poetry and Art Library.
- This website and all contents ©Kirk Ramdath and specified artists.
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