Is your woman made of glass?
If you put your hand through her,
do you bleed out with shards of her
in your wrist? Perhaps a window
to look out and see your luxury,
or a decanter from which
you drink your death.
Is your woman made of wood?
If you slice her and peel off the bark,
do you have a set of stools
for all of your drunk friends?
Perhaps best paired with a table
made out of your first wife.
Is your woman made of silver?
Is she the world’s best conduit,
making a socket or a locket
equally dangerous for your hands?
A thoughtful gift if boxed
and included with a portrait
in a matching silver frame.
Is your woman made of mint?
Does she pair with mojitos
and lamb? Does she freshen
the back of your throat?
Green in this life,
the mild astringent.
I don’t know what to say. This is absolutely stunning. You’ve taken me – in each stanza – through the layers of women as they are depersonalised and deconstructed by others. The way you make each stanza into a question raises the hairs on the back of my neck. This is powerful, perceptive, beautiful writing.
This is absolutely fantastic, and I hope you will consider submitting it for the anthology!