by Alexandra Lunn-Greep
Cane, sugar
Living amongst you it is necessary to run, fly
or swim, what remains stationary dismembered
by ants or cane knife, bundled up, boiled down,
reduced to a syrup, an empty sky filling
with smoke, it was not the kettle we crawled out of
that transformed us, guided by starlight,
fragrant as moonflower, a singing of hands, voices uncontained by circumference of iron, sea dark,
wind supple, we will not return to that shore,
quay of embarkation, harbor of shadow.
Tongue of moon and tide laying words
on shore of palms, hands still sleep clasped
as sparks lift in a plume of incandescence,
oak chunked up, kettle fired, waking to rain
and crow, coffee oiled black as feathered voice
of wing, stirring grits, stirring roux, stirring
up darkness from bottom of the pot.
Choil and bolster singing a song of stone,
clearing the board, separating flesh
from bone, breaking down under hands
of men, becoming a vessel, a utensil,
a discarded container, speaking a language
forgotten, a language contrived, salt and bitter
will flow along tongue, eyes flowering, burnished scars
become feathered, lifting into a long migration,
every cloud has a life of its own.
We have always grown amongst you,
verdant and tall leaved, till men come
swinging blades and sweat to lay us down
in the shimmering heat, bundled carcasses
dragged off to the millstone, without consumption,
without desire we are without value, another weed
obscuring a view, another grass in hand, bloody
as tongue, guttural with lacerated palate, a field
not yet strewn with debris, shivering breeze
anticipating burning, before the gathering in.
Saying the names of grandmothers
and their grandmothers, without reply,
ghosts do not speak with abomination,
the millstone turns mercilessly, cauldron
has its own hunger, we were cooked
before flame touched iron, before juice
began to boil, crushed by gear and lever,
assuming a new form, squeezed into liquid,
distilled into a spirit, a burning in the throat,
an intoxication not yet drawn, a libation
proofed at the cask, raw and flammable.
Peach Delphine is a queer poet from Tampa, Florida. A resident and advocate of the littoral zone, former cook. Devout reader, lazy gardener. Can be found on Twitter @PeachDelphine.
Alexandra Lunn-Greep: Alongside taking photographs (as a complete amateur) Alexandra thoroughly thrives and grows immersing herself in nature, music, painting, gardening, dancing, writing and singing. In this present moment, she is a dedicated full time single mum of twins Gem and Ini who will be turning seven soon. She is beautifully supported by her family and friends, and works part time as a Forest School Leader. After living and working in Europe from 2010-2016, a spiritual awakening and self-evolution started and only continued since then. She speaks basic Spanish and Dutch and loves to travel with her children.