Kate Gardner

United States

Kate | 17 | bi | romantically fascinated with Minoan bull leapers | I've only ever hated airports and fascists |

Ballad in three parts

April 20, 2020


Mordred:
     Whose birth was a vulgar
Utterance, a bawd or corner mutter-
Ance, the lance
     Which checks a surfeit of disdain.
    
     The lance, which pierces softness
In the hide. The words which I have cast
While smiling duly
     But do I rub your callus or your wound? 

     Hack you with the blade or leather sheath? As firm
As you stood in the barren haugh, I saw where
Truth had sunk the gilded teeth
     Gentle lamb, your father was the same
     (Still fettered by the afterbirth’s conceit)

     He too once marched across my dream-bed
Like some prophet. Names are important, so
     I was Nimue. I was the mistress of the waters,
Sword-drawer.  I promise I will cut along the grain
     that you might heal without a weal of scar. 

More Dread:
     When I saw you. The fever came on suddenly as
Treachery. My guts roiled with maggots, rot
Oozed from my mouth like a confession.
     The heather is burning! I saw the castle razed,
Choking my dream lungs. Straight razors over your
Shared square jaws
      At the pivotal moment the throat weeping, opened
    
      My sight soared like a raven and I saw the many lives
We’d lead together. I saw:
     Your druid solemnity called sullen, as you withdrew
     into the close apartment.

     A cigarette dropped
     Behind the balkline, burning the soft finish
     Burning the green, the velvet finish
    
     To sip is to be trammeled by the cup.
    To sit again is to never stand up. 

Awen:
     Millenia have past and we are reborn, soft and uncallused.
My car is a Volkswagen Beetle; she grumbles and
Haws in the grey of winter.
     Sing! Sing! For the sinking galleons 
     Felled battalions

     At last you are forgiven. Sing!
     At night, my body yearns separately from me. But
this is the modern age.

    But old swords, when sharpened by conservators
still run with their first blood.

     I submit myself to tests of this age
     I buy milk and soap and tampons

     Sustained by this: The heather burning
And you,
     Emerging in your glory from the brushfire

     Anew, this time. Blameless and
     Unblooded.
     
    

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  • April 20, 2020 - 1:33pm (Now Viewing)

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