Sloan Asakura
Altar
i wore your death like a goose wears its feathers
. embedded and seeking to be plucked
the plumeria tucked behind my ear dripped milk down my neck
. and you were with me even then with the sun casting light
. over brown skin, illuminating it to pale and forcing
. dark shadows where i faced away from you
i wore your dress like a man wears his skin
. comfortably at first, then writhing for release
the red and white lace eyelets peered into my nakedness
. how could i fill a place made for someone else someone
. more lovely and loved than my empty bag of bones
. i rolled you around in my mouth– a marble
. pushing the question of tragedy with my tongue
. careful not to swallow
. in the pictures, we are wearing you
. with plumerias tucked into bruised black hair
. sun painting us colors we are not
. and the man behind the camera cries
. for a girl who may have looked much like us.
About the writer:
Sloan Asakura is a poet and memoirist originally from Los Angeles, now braving the Pacific Northwest. They have been previously published in Jeopardy Magazine, Rigorous, The Mantle, and Rogue Agent. Asakura is a founder and editor of MAWTH. In their free time, they can be found cooking comfort food, gardening, and contemplating persimmons.
Image: Lost City of Atlantis by George Grie (1962-). Digital image. No technical information specified. By 2014. By free license.
