denial

Iskra once surfed a shark-infested ocean in a thong bikini.
Iskra had whitened teeth,
and coffees
and vitamins for breakfast.
And lunch
and dinner.

Iskra worked in a day care centre for
battered women,
and insisted on monogrammed napkins.
She decided they needed
jewellery, lipstick and fresh clothes.
Warm as a heated limousine.

Iskra once loved a man who left her good-morning
notes. He left the coffee machine on,
plate in sink, and eventually
left her for a hotel in Chicago. This hotel was
a woman, who did not need
good-morning notes. So it goes.

Iskra had a dog, two cats,
and a bird that eventually
pierced its neck on her garden spade.
Its blood mingled in the garden soil.
She insisted it stay,
dead in the air, at least for a few days.

Iskra took sadness on and rammed it like a
Spanish bull. She insisted on Chinese medicine,
and hazy mornings with cigarettes.
Uncompromising. Perhaps this is why
he left, she thought,
too many cigarettes.

Or maybe Iskra and the other Iskras
all have pierced necks. Maybe they bleed themselves out,
and insist they are not dead.

Priyanka Yap is an Arts student currently living in Singapore.

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