Ivy Alvarez: Poems
Woman: a vortex of her own making, all the ways she is willing to insert her body into spaces of obvious harm. Does the corset add beauty, charm, even with shark teeth secreted beneath padded layers, each and every sharpness scratching, the welts inconvenient? This toothed row aligns a little off to the row before it, points of gleaming ivory just arrows to the heart manifestly, the meat’s destiny, a woman’s body, a slab of pure sacrifice, and isn’t it nice how she pretends not to notice through her dark, be-feathered eyes, the blackness drawing in, the rage of her gaze set aside as she casts her eyes downward
When Ophelia Met Yorick
Stole you from he who asked constantly: to be or not to be—banging on existentially. Forgot about me. Never knew about my predilection for you. I hardly knew it, too: a shadow on the day and you so fresh and new, barely blue in the grave. Remember how it felt? Your nape beneath my palm. Your thick twig of rosemary. You said you’d remember me. So I ate the dark square meal of you, the rotten squirmy meat, took you on my tongue, bit you down, down, bone on bone. Fed from the bowl of your mouth, your finger my spoon to suck and suck. Don’t say it was a surprise. I’ve loved you this much. Couldn’t save your skull. Soup leaked from empty eyes and seeped from your lip, sliced in half. How thin of meat and inappropriate for my needs but no less belovéd for that. When I chewed, I squirmed to think of you, your noises inside me, digesting you. Rich. A gravy or a heavy stew.