He says he won’t wear you until the moon draws first blood. In the mornings, he allows you to chase your friends through mist, stirring whirlpools of pigeons. Their waste, parasols of streaked, white sunflowers on neighboring roofs. Your knees remind him of boterkoek. If he warns you not to scrape them, it makes your friends laugh. You hate them. The girls who don’t believe they will one day be asked to stop playing with you. When the moon begins its slow feast, that is the first sign of dying. A girl will eventually be sipped bloodless into limestone. This scares you. How Gusti will hear your fear–a cricket lost somewhere in a hut. You thrash your body and throw your voice. Nothing stops him from thinking you’re his wife. Every night, Ibu walks from her house to his. She sees you to sleep. You grip her bun while a black mare hooves over your chest. Tenders it. When she leaves, a witch swings upside down by the jendela. Gown cherried like your last milk tooth. He does something to you that you don’t understand. Come morning, no one explains the stranger whose body you wake in.
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ONLY POEMS®️ and associated marks are trademarks of ONLY INK, Inc. All individual works are copyrighted by their respective authors. All poems, essays, and artworks published on this site remain the intellectual property of their creators and may not be reproduced without explicit permission. The views expressed in published works are those of the authors and do not necessarily reflect the views of ONLY INK, Inc., its editors, or affiliated entities. While many works draw on lived experience, they may contain fictionalized elements; no reference to any real person is intended or should be inferred. ONLY POEMS is an ad-free, independent, reader-supported publication.