Self-Portrait as a Withered Flower
.
In this room is a dead monarch fly.
Because your breath is proportional
to a wildfire, my body, too, is the closest
thing to a half-bitten apple.
For all the broken fingers and bruised ankles
I carry with me, hidden beneath the confines
of sleek dresses, my blood coats the bathwater
like nightfall enveloping the cloud.
I wake to find your anger like blades tearing down
the curtains of tranquility. What is it about loving
tearing me apart like a knife slicing through an apple flesh?
This body: a city bordered by matchsticks and gasoline.
I housed a dove on my palm in my sleep, I do not know
if joy comes with loving everything soft and tender.
Outside, the trees whistle in succession, to rhythm
your blows sweeping through my ribs.
Anger gives the body what it cannot hold. If loving
is a switchblade, I am the orange flesh.
Jonathan Endurance holds a B.A in English and Literature. His poems appear or forthcoming in Rattle Magazine, Into the Void, Borderlands Poetry Review, Up the Staircase Quarterly, Alegrarse, FIVE:2:ONE, The Cardiff Review, The Ellis Review, Brittle Paper, and elsewhere. His unpublished poem won UNESCO Sponsored Prize for the 14th edition of Castello di Duino Poetry Competition, ITALY. His manuscript (House of Cain) was finalist in the Ramblr Quarantine Chapbook Contest. He reads poetry submissions for Bodega Magazine and can be reached on Twitter @joepoet_ and Facebook: Jonathan Endurance
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