porch poem by Sophie J.K. Scott

i start small. 

                  moonbeam in crooked palm.

pearlescent in wavering love.

                                               feeble body in feeble light. 


i clasp my hands in front of my chest. hold them together. 

let them lay like a water lily, singing silent hymns on top of 

the river. my fingers bloom in mute worship. 


i start small                   

(i want to start big). 

                           want to lay out on my lawn like we used to,

back when your smile could  

                                               turn the grass as yellow as straw. 


back when you didn’t have to. summers used to be long like that

& warm without apologies. you used to sweat out ambrosia. you

used to clasp your hand over my mouth. 


i start small 

(i used to be big).

                        remember when i pressed you into the porch?

how i could make the light flicker?

                                                      i used to be more than animal.


used to breathe in your scuffed palm on my face. take it into my 

throat while you told me a mortal couldn’t stomach your sweat. 

you didn’t listen. you never did. 


Sophie J.K. Scott is a poet and undergraduate history student from the UK, currently studying at Cardiff University. Her work has previously been published in The Wellington Street Review. 
Her twitter is @iuckycharmer and instagram is @sophiejkscott.

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