issue 4

october 2016

issue 4 - october 2016

Toddler in Motion - Loren Thomas

I found you 
under boxes of pills 
and plasters.

You, 
little girl. 
Stare away. 
The camera still 
calls for you.

Candied afternoon sun 
coddles, 
melts to your 
blushing shirt.

Look up 
three year old. 
Chubby bunny cheeks, 
lipo-suctioned feet.

Watch out for prickles, 
silent strangers 
hidden in alleys 
of bladed grass.

Be careful. 
Sensitive skin 
plagues you 
20 years down the road.

They’ll stick you 
full of dead animals, 
line you with flesh. 
Cognitive dissonance:

you’ll love puppies, 
cows too. 
But one is edible, 
one is friend.

The female body 
will be a mystery 
until the blood stains 
steal puberty tears.

That lady with 
a pity smile lied. 
You will not be beautiful, 
but you won’t care.

Except for the sneers 
from boys. 
I just want to be your friend 
not your mid-day lover.

Advice, 
decades absent 
best left in the toy box.

You can’t hear me 
under the roof of 
plastic and paper.

Baby,
you’re a goner.

Exploitations of ‘you’ - Loren Thomas

You take the ring off 
loop it once around your hair, 
pull the strands taut, 
cut the circulation, 
feed the fish what’s left.

Under your nails 
fungus rise 
eating your flesh 
like a $5 buffet.

You tear new rivets 
into your thighs 
with each pounce of a nerve 
fresh off the daily pick.

Crack your bones 
under five layers of stress. 
You could make a blanket 
from the excess.

You shift your gaze 
like jump rope 
at any sense of fault. 
Puppy dog innocence 
like the wrong lip colour.

Hopeless 
adult child. 
Meander through your 
selfish mind.

Shatter your self 
with toy hammers.

I only wish you 
the best of your luck.

Contributor's Note

Loren Thomas is a University of Waikato student currently working towards completing her masters. She has previously been published in Mayhem and Poetry New Zealand.

 

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