split ends: another grim fairytale but this one involves blue cake
when dreams become poems
become dreams / carving cruel holes in space
a breathless narrative is written in the blood of ravens
too many oughts & shoulds / untangling clenched grief
poisoned lullabies uncoiled / did he make me?
a haunted question to which she keeps returning
hiding things in cellars was supposed to make her forget
but she cannot unknow what he did / they did
secrets unravelling / so she takes sharp scissors
cuts her sleeping sister’s long hair / & as soft tendrils spiral
drop oh-so-lightly / kissing the mossy carpet
it’s like shedding blossoms / or stripping leaves from rust-red trees
flayed bark left hanging in strips / eviscerated tree skin
a warning
she divides shimmering crimson locks into two piles
scatters half outside for the ravens to take
for noble nests / an apology
for they have never showed unkindness
the remaining newly shorn tresses
she chops finely with a butcher’s knife
crushing the ends with a heavy bone-handle
sprinkling into lavender flour / pre-mixed with sticky sugar
the yolks of three salamander eggs / adds seven measured drops
of rotted inky essence / a twist of bluebell root / a shot of vanilla syrup
to make his favourite blue-scented morality cake
you’re worth it
his voice wrapping her into bitter silence
she can still feel his lies dripping on her tongue
doesn’t blame her sister / not entirely
after all they share
a beating heart / bones that fracture
too easily
Samson wrongly believed his strength resided in his hair
like some magical testosterone-impregnated super-power
but she knows hair is just stuff our bodies grow
even after death
& Rapunzel managed without hers
although it wasn’t easy
but it was worth it in the end
she will tell her sister’s tears there is green in everything
if you look closely enough
heartstrings
don’t be scared
it won’t hurt (much)
well maybe a little
sometimes (mostly)
letting you in
the December day floats
fingering an absence
of sharp frostbitten objects
kissing it better
i visit those snow-touched places
the morning after
letting this tongue
shadow feathers
smoothing a whisper
of fragile spider-sobs
scrolling
the arctic sickness
every time
every room
every other
being unmade
UK based neurodivergent writer Jane Ayres completed a Creative Writing MA at the University of Kent in 2019 aged 57. Her work has been nominated for Best of the Net 2021 and can be found in places including Lighthouse, Streetcake, The North, Acropolis Journal, Selcouth Station, Sledgehammer and The Forge. As one of the winners of the 2021 Laurence Sterne Prize, her first collection edible will be published by Beir Bua Press in April 2022. Jane tweets at @workingwords50.
photo by Corina Rainer (via unsplash)
Crow & Cross Keys 