Other Tides

Photo: gaelx

The day I met you

the moon abandoned me for other tides,

I became a snake turned outside in,

shedding skin at every curt word.

At first I thought it coincidence

Until I noticed:

I only bleed when I cry

and only you make me cry.

Not Christ’s wounds, then

but the Magdalen’s curse:

the stigmata of the

easily overlooked.

Red rivers weave over thighs,

blood red pennies patter on the white tiles,

a knife-like sting between my legs,

and I’m giving birth to copper spiders.

One day, I promise myself,

all this will stop,

not at the eclipse of the moon,

but when I go blind.