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Poetry

Lauren Ireland

By September 18th, 2020 No Comments

RITUAL FOR CONTINUING TO BE A WOMAN EVEN THOUGH YOU HAVE NEVER WANTED TO BE ANYTHING LESS THAN YOU WANT TO BE A WOMAN RIGHT NOW

Balloon moon drifts through the doorway
bobs up to the ceiling.

Quarter the moon
quarter it again.
You have however many moons
I lost track
a fair number I guess
I don’t know but it seems like a lot.

Touch each one
with that chic beige lighter.

Pop
pop pop
pop poppop pop
et cetera
however many pops it takes
to feel like you really ruined something.

Now you’re in the dark.
Reach inside yourself
and root around.
Your liver is an icy opal.

Take your opal to the beach
on this new planet you have made
where it is always night.
I forgot to tell you
you have to make a planet.
Drag your fingers across wet sand,
Right across the surface of thought.

Bury your opal
deep until
all your internal light
is gone
really really gone.

No I’m not happy
what do you even mean.

 

 

 

 

Lauren Ireland is a graduate of the MFA program for Poets and Writers at the University of Massachusetts-Amherst and co-curator of Monorail, a reading series. She is the author of three books: FEELINGS (Trembling Pillow Press), The Arrow (Coconut Books), and Dear Lil Wayne, as well as two chapbooks. She lives in Brooklyn.