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“Consider the kind of body that enters blueness,
made out of dead-end myth and mischievous
whispers of an old, borderless
existence where the body’s meaning is both more and less.”
– Eavan Boland, ‘How It Was Once In Our Country’
Liminal, caught in the suction
of waves falling back to the sea.
Hybrid, fluid between worlds which
split genderless identity;
consider the kind of body that enters blueness.
Luring lost sailors onto rocks,
rulers of river, rain and sea.
Prototype virgins, sexless souls,
paradoxical history.
Made out of dead-end myth and mischievous
narratives that flow with the tide;
shape-shifting siren, lost and found
with knife-slashed legs and open mouth
a bleeding hole whose only sound
whispers of an old, borderless
story echoed through centuries.
Transient tides hide paradox,
detached pain and volatile self
which rise and crash like waves on rocks.
Existence where the body’s meaning is both more and less.
Published by Alex Anderson
7 years ago 
