Les Rêves des Notre Ours #2 | Page 17

honey monger, the porous exchange of your scent

defibrillates my youth.

how I remember the quick breaths,

the sudden shafts of light,

appearing between my fingertips

as I tried not to watch you swim naked, dive.

you were a shooting minnow, so white the arrow!

the spread of blood followed,

curled up like a question mark –

but I didn’t understand the question.

not even when they dragged you out.

foxy like a wild thing

froth from swallow’s breath,

deep gulps of duckweed, river-water

lotus eater –

lungs piping, branches which bore dark fruit.

the crackling cassette tapes,

our harmonies blow through the synapses

this wind making the memories clean, indelible,

all these years later.

guitar scooped in your arm

cupping me like a ladle,

it was a song sung

so

innocently.

see? it lives in me, your frozen valentine,

in my waters.

the raft, the boot, the bicycle,

your funeral.

by Sara-Mae Tuson - Sara-Mae Tuson has had work published in a wide range of magazines and anthologies, and was long-listed for the Short Fiction Award in 2014. She is a freelance editor and copy-writer, and is currently with the Blake Friedmann Literary Agency, working on her debut novel.