Poems by Doireann Ní Ghríofa (Ireland)

Published in Issue 33 of The Ofi Press.

Exoskeleton

I covet her cockroach corset.

It gleams black in my dreams

like dark ink against my skin. Awakening,

I thirst for that boned black thorax,

the cold embrace of the shell,

formidable. I would keep it hidden

under gowns of taffeta, crinoline, silk.

Beneath, I’d feel the bindings harden:

dense, firm, impenetrable.

I yearn for that corset, so taut, so tough,

to squeeze my ribs until my breath

comes short and shallow,

so tight that I could barely feel

my poor heart beat, so tight that I could forget

its soft rooms, its leaking wounds.

There may be wings folded within those dark plates

transparent and thin — a flight to freedom.

So, should she succumb to her vials

of violet and scarlet opiates,

should she wish to leave me an inheritance,

do tell her how I love it.

Tell her that her cockroach corset is all I covet.

Rondelet on a Missing E

Like, I was her

best friend. She was mine. Twin vandals,

like? I was her

lookout. We scrawled walls together,

keyed cars, broke hearts, started scandals…

til Sir caught us and left the wall

like “I woz her”.