Field Notes ▪︎ Prose (2)

6. Summer applied

I'd sit you down and tell you about how we lived on a unbuilt land where time wasn't known to fly and how my Great grandmother Bakhta bore my mother in the mist of the grey raising on her husband's features. Covered by deep acrid sticking sweat and fresh grace, on the floor there; hands full of water my mother was converted to a living being on her own...so is I today with nebulous moles told to be where a lover once kissed me restlessly in a hurry not to set my beauty loose, athirst to sooth an ache on the tooth. My face full at the size of a tangerine on each side a mix of translucent immaturity and rouged richness most flushed, ruddy plumped when I find my self carelessly sinking in salt tanning on my chest sun catching up to the surface of my unclothed carcass; I can be a fish and no one can catch me.