Shapeshifter's Love Song, by Danielle Boodoo-Fortuné
Your mother had nosebleeds as a child. There was no one to part the copper clouds of her hair, cool her temples with oil and music. Now she is the woman who walks through walls before your eyes. She wears quiet colours and sleeps with feral cats. Your mother is the woman who, from the corner of an eye, could be a long- stemmed tiger lily flaming against bricked-up sky. You are your mother’s son with those cat’s eyes made for dark evenings and lightless rooms. Your feral dreams frighten you. Sometimes, there is blood in your throat when you wake. Every now and then you slip through a wall and surprise yourself. Plain stone turns opaline, cries out in your hands. Early mornings, the house cannot hold you. The falling moon seizes your raw body, reminds you of your first, true shape. And perhaps you chose me because I, too, walk through walls; because you sensed me burning inside my tiresome skin long before you knew the shape of my hot, poemstruck hea...