Dancing the Siva Samoa

By | 1 August 2015

Tijler’s song

I want to own myself in your
eyes feel the ruin culminate
in this belonging –
to pretend it’s a song
that roughens at the knees
/ music ashy on falsetto
there’s something hot about breathing
you in while we watch for the fish to pass
scales hanging off the windows
I want to spit the bones out onto saucers
let them prick our tongues on the way out
so maybe we’ll laugh
it begins like that.
it’s coal, yet
; they poured something bruised
over my palms so
black it’s purple, right?
I wipe my hands
(wipe hands)
Relearn, relearn you.
taxed sun, how many
hours make a promise?
did you know that when I was younger
we called that wishing?
day breaks across
our fingers
crumbling into ants
that crawl towards the hipbone.
a drum hails out of flesh.
could break my back
rollie pollies down no tree hill
sticks and grass Snowballs
ones with the mallow middle us. chew chew.
– I don’t owe you secrets / can’t help it.
balancing along the fence
walk the lattice metal top of a pie on its side
and feet begin to slip rip
-don’t end up grazes / can’t help it.
stand out in the sun when
it’s mounted at the points of trees
yes, it dares for fingers popping tapioca pearls
so what if we have fish bones
pierced through our cheeks?
that’s irony.
that’s jaw metal coins we might
hand over for the soul boat
have them ready together
the water dances on us as us
that’s how movement should be
a certain angle of stippling
beneath this open bracket moon
hands that twine wind
struggle on bloom
go to catch us sprinting
with our mothers with our fathers
don’t get too puffed out
to say nothing we didn’t
, Babe, learn the sand
that shakes out of rock
(treat its dilution)
learn to sew
a quilted tongue
warm on.
it gets better as we season
the laziest heats
that we can’t move in with a tree’s kiss
tell me
(mouthing doesn’t mean shit)
tell me
(the branch broke in my wallet)
how much could we buy this sky for?
Getting semi-Magritte on you, yeah
and still bark cracked veins
enter the gates.
that bird’s nest
(from different kinds)
worn like a metal grass skirt
around Pulotu.
watch Cerberus-threedog dance the Sāsā
slapping his chest, shoulders,
elbows, bend easy fish bones
they’re sharp as tears
our own a weapon fragile.
our own, an unsheathing.
I’ll be dressed in an ‘Ie Toga
and you know, who will care?
I’ll carry up the Taupou’s knife
and feel a path around my eyeliner.
there’s a pastry lipped
way of the spin
don’t, worry, is hard to know
when a clock bends its back
dawn’s reversal
the March
the drum roll
on tin boxes
think of all those echoes
that bridge while we wait
and tell me again
I’m graceful
if only for the second
(feed a heart its own
lasts longer.)
falling slowly to my knees
arc my back
fingers river-ed on air
a stream-dancing.

my baby oiled skin trace imprints
of this sky
watch yourself dance with me
on this floor
turning hooks as needles
stitch ourselves an ocean
one petal on scale
then another
watch our hands weave over
and over
the faint wash of frangipani petals
the snap of freshly caught fish
the way our knees click together
as we curl this kind of embroidery
on top of a granite platform.

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