Poetry: Selections from Talia Borochaner

The Curse

I am a witch trapped 

in a mountain of ice

Caged in cold I thrash, gnash

my molars, grind into gums 

my voice is hoarse from screaming

but I can only speak in tropes

 

I am a princess 

disguised in a bear suit

dancing for court, swishing my fluffy tail

and soft leathery paws

sheathing my claws and smiles

close lipped, covering my

pointed Teeth 

My sparkling gowns are hidden

in walnut shells 

I am locked arm in arm with sisters

and our toes are bruised and blistered

from secret midnight rendezvous 

 

I came from cottages in the woods

lost siblings, little fawns

My mother was the sun

I swayed in her beams, sheltered in light

blessed with celestial powers coveted by weak, sniveling suitors

 

I cannot be killed only silenced

and if you must

then swing your sword swiftly 

and sever my head softly

tumbling from my shoulders

my red rose lips quiet 

- finally -

But beneath my black dull eyes

a grin, frozen

in rigor mortis

to haunt your dreams and all future

grave robbers

Call it my revenge -  delicious -

A dessert for my daughters

my ladies In waiting, biding their  time, writing clever tricks while I rot

flesh to dust

 

Bury my bones with the women

who came before me - all Queens -

fingers drenched, pruned with poison, forced to kill and conquer. 

 

Falling Endlessly

 

I saw a rusted car ( a shell really or maybe a skeleton?)

Along the train tracks of Playwicki Park. I remember wondering-

how did it get here? The tracks were up high. So high that when you

walked too close to the edge you worried. You worried about tumbling 

to the  dusty, pebbled, ground. You worried of bones 

smashing, blood vessels bursting, your skull cracking 

wide open like a black hole yawning 

in space. For a moment your breath 

would catch in your throat, heart pumping as you teetered. Maybe 

you could feel last night’s pasta swimming 

in your gut (Did you chew it up enough?). For a moment 

you felt suspended in space. Like when you 

wake up from a dream too quickly

and you cannot breathe. And you feel as if you are falling endlessly.

I wondered if the car fell endlessly. Until 

it landed. Here. 

On the train tracks. 

 

A Little Something For the Road

 

It needs to be cutting edge

he said

Different, unique

So I made sure to write “Fuck” a few times

I thought about graphically describing my period

How’s that for new?

Do you want to know how it feels when my body sheds

from inside out? The slow slide of my bloody eggs

slipping from my thighs?

No? no?

That is too much, too graphic, Frankly, it’s uncomfortable

 

Back to the drawing board. You’ll know it when you see it, right?

Right.

Okay, I got it. How about the early dawn, when I held my daughter in my arms?

I was tired and shaking. I had crashed and they brought me back, I was ripped and stitched

I was horrified and overcome with joy

I was sc- No?

Not that either?

It’s cliche. It’s mundane. Minus the stitches it could be a hallmark card.

 

Okay, okay.

How about my living room? Toys scattered, dog slumbering, I’m folding the laundry

watching TV. Volume down low. Subtitles on 

as the pathologist reports on the levels of arsenic in his system. 

I bet she slipped it in his coffee every morning before work.

I bet she lined his cup, packed lunch, love note, 

complete with snacks.

 

You’re awfully quiet. Do you think this might be the one?

I hope so. Are you hungry? Would you like something to eat before you go? 

Just a little something for the road?

Talia Borochaner is an educator and writer in the greater Philadelphia region. Her work has been previously published in OVUNQUE SIAMO.