#15

Tibor Csernus

The Matador’s Daughter by Ellen Kombiyil

The Matador’s Daughter

won’t eat meat

says red is a sound

not a color

that blossoms into fruit

Flowers follow

when she runs

headlong through the streets

apples open

when she peels them

with her fingers

Georgia by Ellen Kombiyil 

For months, I painted blue.

I painted until I was drunk with blue,

until lines grew thick, like innuendoes—

not skulls, but the shadows of skulls

in desert’s harsh light. I was painting

in the place of making and unmaking—

everything spilled open—tugging loose,

breaking the dry river stones until

their geode hearts bled. I heard the jay cry

thief, thief, marking the air.

In the silence after, I could almost trace

the sound back to the beginning,

to blue lines liquid with light, I named

Canyon. Sediment. Layers of Rock.

(Ellen is part of The Great Indian Poetry Collective. Read more about the group on their Facebook page.)

More art by Tibor Csernus here.

Recommended listening: Only Heather – Wild Nothing

Links of the day: A-Z of unusual words

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