September 15th, 2025
by Juliette Isaac
I want beauty invented by my own two hands.
Allow me.
Let me owe you unstretched skin.
Let the passion my convincing begs of me
render my motherhood pristine.
I hear crying!
Do you hear it? It sounds like invention.
Watch.
I am held like stitches in the heady silk fog afternoon.
Look what I can do!
Watch.
One body is swaying against a blistering June.
I jeer from the rooftop, perched from a distant grace,
then fall asleep to dog whistles.
Do you hear them? Your sober gaze abases me.
It has watched me weep!
Two fingers etch glycolic acid into these hips until the skin burns.
There, for the first time, I wonder if she has heard me breathe.
I scream, twisting inwards upon myself,
hugging this naked project.
Thick fluid pulses from the bottle. I hear crawling!
Swallowing my question off the tip of this tongue,
I am submerged by another –
How much love have I missed?
My hair greys at the touch of two honey freckled hands.
It was too sweet a question, forgive me.
About the Poet
Juliette Isaac resides in Ottawa, Ontario, Canada.
Read the poet's biography and Wax Poetry and Art publications
on Juliette Isaac's Artist Page.
This poem is included in Poetry World #13,
published in the Wax Poetry and Art Library.
Previously published in Ottawa Poetry Magazine:
Ladle and Cradle
by Evelyn Reyes
Ottawa 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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