Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Zhang Zao

Lily Magnolia

my darling noonday, the magnolia drops her gaze, serenely dreaming
she dreams of me standing on tip-toe before her like a phantom
she makes out the can of water I hold, poison to all but her
and in her face I cannot find the slightest shred of fear
while she now senses how I loathe myself
so deeply loathe this blood, these nerves, these pores, the
look of my ears, my constricted heart; one moment she understands that
I’m plainly only a man; soon after she reminds herself that
I’ve lounged beside windows staring at others, or switched on lights
and passed through doors to penetrate still deeper places
and so she sheds pretending flowers, or makes the best of a
gently gusting breeze in clear skies, or a peal of thunder, to dance me
from her skin, from her uneasy heart

LILY MAGNOLIA

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Lily Magnolia

my darling noonday, the magnolia drops her gaze, serenely dreaming
she dreams of me standing on tip-toe before her like a phantom
she makes out the can of water I hold, poison to all but her
and in her face I cannot find the slightest shred of fear
while she now senses how I loathe myself
so deeply loathe this blood, these nerves, these pores, the
look of my ears, my constricted heart; one moment she understands that
I’m plainly only a man; soon after she reminds herself that
I’ve lounged beside windows staring at others, or switched on lights
and passed through doors to penetrate still deeper places
and so she sheds pretending flowers, or makes the best of a
gently gusting breeze in clear skies, or a peal of thunder, to dance me
from her skin, from her uneasy heart

Lily Magnolia

my darling noonday, the magnolia drops her gaze, serenely dreaming
she dreams of me standing on tip-toe before her like a phantom
she makes out the can of water I hold, poison to all but her
and in her face I cannot find the slightest shred of fear
while she now senses how I loathe myself
so deeply loathe this blood, these nerves, these pores, the
look of my ears, my constricted heart; one moment she understands that
I’m plainly only a man; soon after she reminds herself that
I’ve lounged beside windows staring at others, or switched on lights
and passed through doors to penetrate still deeper places
and so she sheds pretending flowers, or makes the best of a
gently gusting breeze in clear skies, or a peal of thunder, to dance me
from her skin, from her uneasy heart
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