Book X
The cypresses reached the clouds. The clouds ran
like stockings. The cypresses seemed
to woodfeather the roof
of my mouth when I was elsewhere
benerved. What I called my pleasure:
Elsewhere here. Her mouth
on me: tangerine pulp. Words came
as ants synapsing to syrup. Each,
inadequate. Each, everything. She gave me
her tongue. She gave me a way
to refuse and a way to yes the world
in brisk barter. She gave me the sweetmeats
of power surrendered
and power offered. The Garden was prolific
in wild invasives. Yes, in knowledge —
I made a kudzu rope
to bind my wrists
to my desire
and to unbind my future
from a pluperfect past. The tense
present in I am without I am.
I believe in God as a knot
that knows how to untie itself.
From this knowledge, a secret fruited
known as a bruise
to thumb the touch apparent.
■
The cypresses reached the clouds. The clouds ran
like stockings. The cypresses seemed
to woodfeather the roof
of my mouth when I was elsewhere
benerved. What I called my pleasure:
Elsewhere here. Her mouth
on me: tangerine pulp. Words came
as ants synapsing to syrup. Each,
inadequate. Each, everything. She gave me
her tongue. She gave me a way
to refuse and a way to yes the world
in brisk barter. She gave me the sweetmeats
of power surrendered
and power offered. The Garden was prolific
in wild invasives. Yes, in knowledge —
I made a kudzu rope
to bind my wrists
to my desire
and to unbind my future
from a pluperfect past. The tense
present in I am without I am.
I believe in God as a knot
that knows how to untie itself.
From this knowledge, a secret fruited
known as a bruise
to thumb the touch apparent.
■
“Book X” by Emilia Phillips appears in The Adroit Journal issue 38 (August 2021). Phillips (they/she) is a faculty member in the MFA Writing Program and the Department of English and cross-appointed faculty in Women’s, Gender, and Sexuality Studies Program at UNC Greensboro.