An inverted birth -- by just mercedes

[Leanne]

Glowing umbrellas and
a thick smell of thunder.
Nothing tastes of windows now
or how she poached guavas
and served them floating in custard
like islands in the lake
her father’s father’s father crossed
in search of the marrying maiden,
her karapapa laughter;
a blossom queen with dowsed crown
her dress an enormous balloon
made of lilac taffeta
with a wicker basket full of crows
flying as they fly, straight
into the photograph
of her earliest birthplace
right back through the bottle neck
all the way home.



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