[Poem] February, baby!

The corner store down the street stopped selling blackberries ages ago...

February, baby!

The corner store down the street stopped selling 
blackberries ages ago; everything is already here.
The constant sale of false idols shrink-wrapped in plastic.
Fat grapes of rainfall hiss when they comes into contact
with the cement; I dream the whole way home.

There is always the fear of my own heartbeat;
the excitement of playing hide and seek
always sours in my stomach; like
a keepsake, an amulet of grief, a ceaseless wailing;
I am a medium of romanticism, folding misery like laundry,
back in on itself, and sealing it with an envelope kiss. 

Spring is the cutting of the self; a way of saying
“I am here with you”; a double consciousness.
I suppose a homemade religion is always a dying woman’s
laugh; a rare thing meant to be kept secret;
the prayers are meant to be your own before
they are anything else.

The beautiful thing of martyr’s lace is exactly in that
which the design hides; the flesh, the fruit, the fault.
Today is supposed to be dreadful as I watch the grey 
sky rain ribbons; and my neighbour ceased locking his
doors despite knowing much better; I really ought to complain 
much more.

This here is the London I thought I knew so intimately;
cold and barren and dreary; wasteland of affection;
accessible, playful, chaotic; a thousand locked doors
could never keep us out of it.

One minute is all it takes to fall back into old habits;
washing my life in the river Thames, by the shining rocks 
on the bed,
and in my pockets;
so I may hang myself on a laundry line, hoping to
dry out the fog in my eyes, and make a claim towards 
a heaven I won’t hide from.

It is just there, in the corner between St Paul’s and
a cinema much younger than me; on a brick that’s
never seen blood; and an alley that’s never known
me to be somebody who could weep unprovoked.

---

Sabrina Angelina is dedicated to the intersection of love and violence, a term she coined to describe classical Romanticism's tendency to pair passion and suffering, tragedy and pleasure, together. Consumed by this concept, she writes on Substack and curates the White Lily Society page dedicated to arts and culture.

White Lily Society links // Sabrina Angelina links

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