by Tawanda Mulalu

Starling, I form you in a mirror of my eye
before this cascade of thought and pictures
of thought. Allow myself this weather, empty skin
against glittering sky. Allow further a mother’s umbrella
to surface you against glittered sky. To drift in
and out of the wake of my heart, larger now than
the tiny, thrumming fingers it still fills with blood: drift, drift,
self, drift… And whose other’s skin, blanketed
against myself this morning, not unlike your very first light
but so unlike any light after except
in the naive whispers remaining from dreams?
Softening keys towards a repeat,
slurred my fingers at the bar meeting hers: your name
lost not on my tongue, but within
the loss of my tongue, blanketed by another.

 

Poem copyright 2025 by Tawanda Mulalu. All rights reserved.

See more poems from Tawanda Mulalu on The Fight & The Fiddle: “Sheffield,” “Dal Niente,” and “Libido”

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Read more in this issue: Interview | Critical Essay | Writing Prompt