Kate Puxley, Untitled (from The Hunting Lodge), 2016
Mixed media
6” x 8”
From here, the pomegranates sour,
drop into mandarin sky, and Venus
is a crucifix on the sun. Perhaps you’re right—
I love this girl too much. I let her
lap marrow from bone, lay claim to my very breath.
And what’s left, such roundness.
How the body adds to itself as another takes away.
You knew its shape first without her,
made habit of drawing breath from the soft cup
of my hips meeting waist.
But I have grown sick of that effigy. Look at me now,
golden crown blissfully gathering
blood from feet, padding our waking girl with good fats
and ruby cushions. I would steal your food
to feed her. I would steal your food.
Am I the hysteric, calling to my womb
for answers? She offers: ace of cups spilling up,
four of wands (listen: the lovers cheer,
cry, feed me, feed me, feed me).