Читать книгу Monica's Overcoat of Flesh - Geraldine Clarkson - Страница 11

The ritual of dressing: vest yourself

with shirt of hare, to keep you fleet

of heart, not bound to anyone.

Next, scapular, dyed marigold

to shun the sun; fuddle enemies

with poison-light. Belt of peacock

feathers, brilliant-eyed and trailing

emerald, to fetch a glance

around the forest; have folk staring

after. Dun stockings tricked out

with dog-rose and forget-me-not.

Clogs of cherrywood, carved, ideally,

by a first and lonely love. Eucalyptus

gloves to make your hands more apt

to heal and tease, caress, leave

trace. Velvet for your temples.

Raven-cap. And at your throat, a pendant,

turned from linnet-heart, half-ribbed,

to hop against your Adam’s apple whilst you

hum demented pilgrims back to life.