Life, Poetry, Writing

Netflix & Chill

After midnight Doubt seeps in though the gaps around my air conditioner

and comes to join me on the couch

Bathed in the mummifying haze of blue electric static

He wraps an arm around my shoulder

tips my head back

and kisses me full of fear.

 

β€” Janine Serioux

Advertisements
Standard
Life, Love, Poetry, Writing

Motherfucker

Why must you be a child all the time?

With those dark, knowing eyes

and just-five-more-minutes-please smile.

Can’t you see that I’m tired?

I don’t have the time to play with you.

Maybe Tanya and Tina let you get away with it

but I’m not one of your little friends.

Yet you still try to sneak your way into my bed

When will you outgrow this phase?

Creeping fingers caught in the cookie jar and all my

spilled milk.

‘Mama, how much longer you gonna make me wait?’

You know I hate it when you call me mama.

I don’t have the time to nurse you, burp you, or change you.

 

β€” Janine Serioux

Standard
Life, Poetry, Writing

Questions For People Who Don’t See Color

Congratulations on attaining this peculiar disability.

Forgive my morbidity but,

tell me, what does my skin look like sans color?

Since I am no longer black to you

I could not be grey either, since grey is a color too.

Perhaps you see me as truly colorless, a shape-shifter like water or air?

But even then, when the light bends through me

is it like looking through glass?

Am I to be just as brittle?

Can you still read the texture of my hair, the shape of my eyes and mouth?

Or is that more of the color you don’t see?

I must be a phantasm then.

No wonder you seem so scared,

All this pushback from a ghost.

What is it like to live a life so haunted?

And what do you see when you see yourself?

Can you see yourself?

Perhaps you are a ghost too.

 

β€” Janine Serioux

Standard
Life, Poetry, Writing

Cover

Some say small women can get away with wearing less.

Slim steel limbs and bud nipples on trim ribcages,

Skin fitted close like armor.

Their bodies hold a different revolt

That can be smuggled neatly in size 6 jeans.

They wage war in seed, planted within the walls of convention.

Then there are women like me

With thighs broad and lapping like riverbeds,

The body of a tree, branches bowed heavy with ripe fruit no matter the season.

How does one ready an orchard for battle?

How to shore up these shores?

What do you sheath this greenhouse in to prepare it for an onslaught?

β€” Janine Serioux

Standard
Life, Poetry, Uncategorized, Writing

Self-care For the End of the World

  • 2 cups Epsom salt
  • 1/4 cup baking soda
  • 2 tablespoons dried lavender
  • 2 teaspoons olive oil
  • 5 drops peppermint oil

Stir to combine.

 

Fill a tub,

a bucket,

a sink,

a bowl,

a glass,

a thimble,

with water as warm as you can stand.

Pour in the salt

and stir.

Submerge your body

and soak

until your fingers prune

and the water clouds

with your doubt,

fears,

and anxiety.

 

Touch

every inch of the body

that was given to you by someone else

but is yours now.

 

(If you have a pumice stone,

now would be a good time

to slough off

those chips that have been weighing down your shoulders

and rid yourself

of all your

dead skin).

 

Pull the stopper from the tub

or sink.

Pour the water from the bucket,

bowl,

glass,

or thimble.

 

Say goodbye.

 

Rinse.

 

β€” Janine Serioux

Standard