Poetry
Skein
Abigail George
issue seven
As I pluck the child from the air.
Your face is wet, she says. She is white teeth,
and fever, the tapestry that is made of cloud.
She doesn’t understand the word blaxploitation.
Her hair is egg shampoo. She doesn’t eat carrots.
She prefers chicken instead. Her body is the
mountain light in summer. Her laughter is a bird,
a horse, a hot South African garden. She
squawks like a chicken and flaps her arms.
Her eyes watch me like a deer in the headlights
of an oncoming vehicle. Her fingers smell as sweet
as toffee. Almond milk on her breath. I give her
honey to eat and pour coca cola in a shot glass for her.
She looks on as my mother puts on sunset pink lipstick
and peacock-blue eyeshadow. She experiments.
She’s the stars in the palimpsest of the night sky.
She tells me sometimes she feels sadness when I
don’t want to play with her. I wonder if her life
will be as bittersweet as mine has been.
About the Author
Abigail George, winner of the Sol Plaatje EU Poetry Prize, is a poet, short story writer, novelist and script consultant. She was shortlisted for the Writing Ukraine Prize and the Erbacce Prize. Her poetry has appeared in Birds Piled Loosely, Neologism Review, Synchronized Chaos, Critical Muslim, and Toad Suck Review. Her blog is called African Renaissance. She writes short stories and scripts for experimental films. She enjoys watching documentaries on writers and poets and cooking. Her latest book is Did You Get Married to Her When I Was In The Mental Hospital? Find it on Amazon and the Zamashort shop.
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