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| Sophie Robinson |
SWEET SWEET AGENCY
the candy here is hard & filled & there is nothing i love more
than to be treasured. if nobody’s watching i just do nothing: lie down
don’t hardly breathe, keep my face in careful stillness not to crease
its cute forgettability. the world is full of edible munchkins & it is my life’s work
to work out how to stay creamy on the inside, how not to sour myself
up with little nips of this or that or otherwise cut holes in myself thru which
to be seen. i must learn to love what i cannot know: the wide bleached anus
on a porn blog, the insane demands of toddlers, the desire for moderation or
slimness of affection, the reasons lovers leave, the trash my cat brings back,
the crack of footsteps in the woods at night, why the killer kills.
i learn it all the hard way but fwiw
i would never snap the rabbit’s neck again
i would rewind i would keep it every time
HONEY LAMB
don’t remember going downstairs saying sorry or
nevermind just the moment of waking not knowing
if it’s dusk or dawn sweating like a hothouse
flower red & wet & pulled up from under & gasping
steeped & steaming like a teabag & drunk on sleep
& beer & sadness blue & dewy as a hothouse
flower & the white white vodka crouching neat
as a bullet low inside me & burning light
like a living laser & i feed it – milk & bread
& honey & lamb – until i’m sticky as an ant
& shining like a hothouse flower thrumming
with the urgent clag of honey blood across
my chest in uneven lubbing – my vodka
heart trembles like a chihuahua & bruises
break across my skin all purple & yellow
as hothouse flowers & the white hot vodka stars
at dusk & dawn glitter inside me i am beautiful
as a hothouse flower when i turn myself on i light
up in twinkling points between the milky
bones of my ribs & pelvis & all the bulbs
i planted in my fat hot head burst into bright
flowers through my eyes & my teeth bleat
like a lamb & i spark myself up into
a column of coloured light & fire myself
off like a gun going downstairs
to say sorry, nevermind
ABOUT THE CONTRIBUTOR
SOPHIE ROBINSON
is the author of A (Les Figues, 2009) and THE INSTITUTE OF OUR LOVE IN DISREPAIR (Bad Press, 2012). She lives in Norwich, where she is a Lecturer in Poetry at the University of East Anglia.
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