"Cohabit" by Perrin Clore Duncan
Two poems by Janelle Tan
not just because it's almost cuffing season
meet me at the mouth, or the little quiver
of a red lip at the very tip
of an upside-down decanter,
begging to be released.
meet me at heavy, carrying
itself around my neck, a prayer
when i clasp my outstretched palms
around it.
meet me at my silent
rainmaking ritual.
god help me, i have scraped against so many twigs
trying to spark
something.
if this is the last drought for now
let me be dripping,
let me live in the trickling
juice down your chin,
thinking of all the time i spent starving,
staring at clouds and the grey shadow living
on your top lip. for my finger it is the same
act of tracing – a vertical hairy trail that
stretches
from your belly button.
meet me on the first day of apple orchard season,
hiding in our nest of branches. smell the swollen
stores of juice, let us be the first
wash of apple over our tongues.
i have waited
like a wine-grape in the sun. in the slanted
light of the shortening days we could be
the first drop of rain on my cheek,
the first crunch of apple beneath your teeth.
meet me at the mouth, or the little quiver
of a red lip at the very tip
of an upside-down decanter,
begging to be released.
meet me at heavy, carrying
itself around my neck, a prayer
when i clasp my outstretched palms
around it.
meet me at my silent
rainmaking ritual.
god help me, i have scraped against so many twigs
trying to spark
something.
if this is the last drought for now
let me be dripping,
let me live in the trickling
juice down your chin,
thinking of all the time i spent starving,
staring at clouds and the grey shadow living
on your top lip. for my finger it is the same
act of tracing – a vertical hairy trail that
stretches
from your belly button.
meet me on the first day of apple orchard season,
hiding in our nest of branches. smell the swollen
stores of juice, let us be the first
wash of apple over our tongues.
i have waited
like a wine-grape in the sun. in the slanted
light of the shortening days we could be
the first drop of rain on my cheek,
the first crunch of apple beneath your teeth.
Litany for the Living
praise that oven of a four-by-four room
praise that window, a jail cell’s ventilation breath
praise the trash can i never took out in three months, new plastic wrap balanced on
last week’s receipts to keep from overflowing
praise the craft beer bottles by the wall, slumped like schoolchildren
praise the rice cooker and cutting board crouched on the floor, the steaming plea of
my sweat
praise the same four shirts i wore for three months, and the rack of colorful dresses
that dripped untouched
praise that room, my pickling jar
praise the bloated summer i slept under catering trays
praise the summer i begged like an open arpeggio – my illness my head myself to
stop, please
praise the morning crackling at four a.m.: today. today is the day
praise the lawless evenings, the slow after-work metronome
praise the after-dinner flow of traffic
praise the fat unfurled night, the kettle’s whine at boiling point
praise the solid ground of a windowsill
praise every windowsill over the last eleven years where i have sat in preparation for
a jump
praise every windowsill that has cupped my thigh, soothed my hair: i will never let you
praise every jump i did not take
praise that waterlogged summer, and
praise the deflated prune of december. i am safe now.
praise that oven of a four-by-four room
praise that window, a jail cell’s ventilation breath
praise the trash can i never took out in three months, new plastic wrap balanced on
last week’s receipts to keep from overflowing
praise the craft beer bottles by the wall, slumped like schoolchildren
praise the rice cooker and cutting board crouched on the floor, the steaming plea of
my sweat
praise the same four shirts i wore for three months, and the rack of colorful dresses
that dripped untouched
praise that room, my pickling jar
praise the bloated summer i slept under catering trays
praise the summer i begged like an open arpeggio – my illness my head myself to
stop, please
praise the morning crackling at four a.m.: today. today is the day
praise the lawless evenings, the slow after-work metronome
praise the after-dinner flow of traffic
praise the fat unfurled night, the kettle’s whine at boiling point
praise the solid ground of a windowsill
praise every windowsill over the last eleven years where i have sat in preparation for
a jump
praise every windowsill that has cupped my thigh, soothed my hair: i will never let you
praise every jump i did not take
praise that waterlogged summer, and
praise the deflated prune of december. i am safe now.
Janelle Tan was born in Singapore and lives in New York City. Her work appears or is forthcoming in Anomaly, Arc Poetry Magazine, Bone Bouquet, and Stoneboat. She is the recipient of a 2018 Academy of American Poets Prize, and is currently an MFA candidate at New York University. She serves as Co-Assistant Web Editor for Washington Square Review.
Perrin Clore Duncan, from Oklahoma, graduated from DePauw University in May 2017 with a B.A. in Economics and Studio Art. Her work has been shown and published in Ireland, the United States, and worldwide through online publications. Perrin currently pursues her M.F.A. at the Burren College of Art in Ireland.
Visit her on instagram at @perrincloreduncan.art or at her WEBSITE.
Visit her on instagram at @perrincloreduncan.art or at her WEBSITE.
