linen :: camp
My writing from Week 5 of The Visceral Self
Linen I open my camphor chest creak of sweet wood each universal ream of cloth folded & piled I recognize linen by touch it has a roughness each warp and weft a likely map a sterile skin each movement wrinkles in time the iron is hot I smooth my hand over linen's tiny quills & spray it down that morning we awoke too early beads on its surface fog on the lake cold hands & cheeks press the iron hiss & steam sapor of wolf willow & sage my shoulders believe in this incense and soften their always shifting thoughts suddenly I realize my hands are perfumed bulrush breathing the morning sun the walking awe of thread
camp we raised canvas tents over wooden platforms I wondered why we weren't sleeping on the earth so it could absorb the soft sounds of our breathing we walked on and off trails looking for the round leaves of sweet Indian gum close to the ground stems between our teeth sugared green not quite mint soot stuck to the soaped bottoms of cheap pots eggs fried over fire oily toast marshmallows later the burnt ones the best a crackle when blown out smoke skin then gooey sweetness we found the big dipper and the milky way wandering away from the fire the purple hue of galaxies giggling until our breath misted and we yawned off to our sleeping bags the mean girls tried to break me but I was already a wild-natured thing comfortable enough in my skin that nudity and my budding breasts were only a shift not an embarrassment I loved the canoe it split water so delicately so clear we watched the fish and swaying plants before slipping beneath to be with them cool relief on our sunburnt shoulders the leeches that grabbed hold fascinated me as much as anything I removed them gently one by one off each girl's legs and arms with salt or flame or with a delicate squeeze to blossom blood from their so round mouths each of us was one small creature feeding from another
You can read my previous writing from The Visceral Self here:
Beautiful! Your poems sound like music in head.
Captured by your words. (Delightfully.)