Agoloso Presents - Atondido Stories Agoloso Presents - Mama Mada | Page 128

Mama Mada
Renny—1961 by Rebecca Gethin
Even then, I knew my performance as a primrose
wouldn’t impress. But as soon as the bell clanged
we played wild animals. We’d be at it on the floor,
some crawling on all fours, others writhing,
all of us snarling or growling. I guessed
he’d notice my sabre-tooth-tiger impression:
I knew how to act long fangs, had the prowl off to a tee.
I’d studied the picture and practised. Anyone would guess.
He stood watching me for a while, hands on hips,
smiled at me. But all he wanted to do was to rough up Bert
and I can’t remember now what animal he was.
Flesh by Ze ld a Ch ap p e l
It’s the ways our tongues get folded, stealing
away my speech. It’s open mouths writing
letters, lipped words placed softly in ears
precisely. It’s shadows that aren’t what they
used to be and my fetish for transcendence.
It’s easier. These days it’s slipping through
flesh which we know can be done in silence.
It’s knowing this is not how you’ll have
imagined it. It’s not dark except for the door
we’re caught behind and my room’s heavy
curtains hung drawn, sad, apart for more than
mere sunlight. It’s glass making a show
of transparency while I learn the ways to be
opaque. It’s shrinking as you fill the space
I leave between my skin and bone. It’s waiting
for you to cover me, your skin a fine-spun web.
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