2020 / poetry / author
JODIE MENG
BALLET
…
In the waiting room, we wrap stiffened layers of
Canvas across our feet. It’s opening night, and I’m
Learning that pointe shoes show no mercy on
Adolescent girls. The pink satin sheaths our
Calluses, the price we pay for our guise of
Perfection. We dab rouge onto baby fat and
Snap pink tutus over leotards. I pray gravity will
leave me alone tonight, so I may jete across the
stage smiling, adrenaline suppressing
Tomorrow’s throbbing pain.
HOSPITAL RELEASE
…
After the receptionist waves goodbye, she’ll
Venture past the sliding doors and lay her bones
On the garden bench. Closing her eyes, she’ll
Make herself into springtime, hospital air
Furling like smoke from her pores and flowering trees
Replenishing her lungs with fragrance.
She’ll exhale and perceive a light between
the leaves, a golden sphere blossoming
like an iris, bringing color to her papery skin.
Soon, the songbirds’ melodies, rising gently in
Cascades, will encase her in a cathartic symphony.
She too, will find her voice, and sing.
THE OLD MAN AND CLIMATE CHANGE
…
Manolin, I see you where the Pacific
Meets your homeland. As the salty fringe
swirls around your coarsened ankles,
You root your sturdy feet to the Cuban shore.
It’s September, and your hope is tethered to
The rhythmic pulse of Marlin beneath the waves.
They suffocate often, and their skeletons sink.
Sometimes, you speak of your first apprenticeship,
When thick-boned leviathans surfaced with metal
Hooks, flashing white underbellies in the midday haze.
Now, you no longer count the seabed’s unmarked graves
Nor mourn the idle dissolution of their remains.
You spend your last days among the riptide, the crackling wind,
And the menacing baritone of industry.
