Life Pulp

Life Pulp                                                                     Emily Kell 2012


Purple spines, like vein laced leaves,

mark the parchment of our hides

and the ink never dries

from the ink wells of my cuticles

from the ink wells of your eyes

from ashes of the feather

from the bossom of a bonzai

where we once twisted together,

Naked by nature,

Vine by vine,

and dropped our colors from spoon to cube

To melt our pelts between each others fingers

And leave a watermark that wouldn’t ever dry.

We are

Light bulb moments made of moss,

Mushroom spores in each other’s palms,

Singing moonlit psalms in the language of rain.

I could wash my hair forever and still there your little finger tips would dwell

Ginger with their braiding

And deliberate with their spell

From the ashes of the feather

To the ink within my well