- Turquoise Water
set on fire
smells
fresh and fine and foreign
(not "foreign" as in "strange or alien"
but
"foreign"
in the way my aunts smell when they visit us once every few years,
clean, dollar store, a-human
"foreign"
in the way my mum's suitcase smells years after her year in the West).
My sister
tells
me
Bath and Body
works
is
expensive.
But
how would I know?
I
only
recently
shifted
from
Lifebuoy
(supersaver packs; 3 for the price of 2)
to
Khadi soaps
(bought in self righteousness at State emporia)
to
gram flour to wash my body
old rice water for my hair
tears and vinegar for my soul.
Turquoise Water
set on fire
fills
the bathroom
with
itself
dancing shadows on the wall
and
teasing and tossing and rearranging
my insides
the way only
lovers and ghosts and roadside gobi manchurian
have done before.
Was
this
stolen intimacy
your
intention
when
you
picked
Turquoise Water
(to be set on fire)
for
me
from shelves
of
consumption Canada and illusions of freedom and choice?
Turquoise Water
set on fire
burns
on
the shelf
(littered with sea shells and tumble weed balls of hair)
and
fills
my mind
with
stolen thoughts
of you
while
sweat grime corona (cum) fears
stray weaker rooted leg hair tears
are
washed off
me
and
Turquoise Water
(set on fire)
turns
smoke
and
g(r)ay.
Writing a series of poems based on book titles along with Neville Craig Kumar. This one is based on the name of Bath and Body Work’s scented candle, Turquoise Waters.
