Remembering Kristeva, Afterwards

We come to language in mourning, eyes dark
with lust, our tongues thick with the knowledge
of the breast. Who would not stand
on the other side of the word
and weep for the strange Braille
of the mother’s flesh? Who would not wish
to cross again the cavernous in-between
and speak through skin, that thinnest of fortresses?
If I had only refused
at first to speak, curled mute and new
in the carnal hush before! If I
had resisted the perfect lure of the word.
Now there is only a trace in the night,
a shadow of memory, my skin humming
the truth of your skin - lost. I sing –
though I sing until the words scratch the back
of my throat, I cannot find the truth
of your skin on mine. I would swim
like an infant in the deep of your eyes,
I would relinquish this useless dialect.
I would give every letter
to know and be known.

Psychoanalytic

I close my eyes, yearning to learn
the curves of your body blind, to map by touch alone
your angular planes. Imagine, coiled close
against the young smooth and pink of me, silver
filaments of your chest hair. You could be my father,
you say, you are old enough to be my father. This bothers
you. At the place of our joining, the place where you fill me
like newly-turned earth in a grave, I burst into a flowering
of desire. Suddenly I realize I was born with this need,
a carnivore with a fully developed taste for the raw, you
need never be strange to me again. And who
will I be, how will I know myself with you inside
me? How will I know myself without you there?










The Promise

As if I could, zygotic, swim again in mother-blood,
warm baptismal waters of the womb, brush once more
against the nascent state. To suckle the breast
and still remember lips on my own nipples, the slow velvet
lick of a lover’s tongue. Erotic, the gentle elastic
snap of tendon from bone, the satisfactory
unraveling. Oh, to collapse again to a single cell! To cleave
to uterine tissue, thin and pink. Not
to need to die to live again. Rebirth, you vowed,
and I broke myself like waves against your law
before I heard the rest: Rebirth, you sighed, but first,
but first - death. I was born confessing, sin on my tongue,
its viscous black like bile in the back of my throat. From the start,
I spoke fluent language of the fall. Rebirth. Who would not
desire life anew, a folding back of the self to the fertile seed?
Who, despite the agony of collapse?








The Persistence of Memory
after Dali

Salvador Dali brought me to a screaming
boil, melted me down like gold,
then poured out my simmering skin
on a block of dry ice.
It struck me as strange –
isn’t Dali dead? and did he really
look exactly like
my father?
I was in the hayloft
of my parents’ barn - I forgot that part -
and somehow I wasn’t flat anymore.
I kept falling into
holes beneath the hay,
hearing my father’s voice:
That hayloft isn’t safe.
I clung to rotting wood until my fingers
turned numb, legs
churning air. My sister was there.
The neighbor boy
stood, unbuckling his belt.
I heard her calling my name and calling
my name, and when she finally
went silent,
I fell.
All poems ©Rachel Custer