Bloom

— Tiffany Galicia

Little Abby, little Sally,
Stay safe, my darling dears.
I love you so, but you must go
Explore
Away from here.

So down a little path
That curves this way and that
Skip the two little girls
With sunny demeanors.
And as they round a bend,
They come across a peculiar man.

And one girl says to the other—
Sally, Sally,
Who is that man?
He sits in the corner and stares.
But why, oh why does he stare?

They see the man’s unblinking gaze.
It slithers down the periphery
Of their little girl hips
And over little girl lips.
What are your names, sweet girls?
Answer him, they do not dare.

They hurry now
Away from the man who stares.
And one girl says to the other—
Abby, Abby,
Look at those girls,
So pretty do they seem.
But why, oh why do they say—

Books? Books?
How can these books
Get you what you need?
When all you need
Are wiles and sexy good looks.
Follow us.
We’ll take the lead.

The girls’ strides get longer.
Their shadows lengthen
And curve into figure 8s.

And one says to the other—
Sally, Sally,
Let’s go
To towers of ivory,
Where scholars roam
And ivy grows,
Where numbers are riddled with letters
And letters are encrypted by riddles,
And hieroglyphs and runes
Unravel tales
Of ancient worlds and dusty roads
And interesting mariners’ tunes.

Sally, Sally,
Look!
I see a young scholar there!

Intrigued by the sight,
Abby takes a different path,
Away from Sally, who cries—
But why, oh why did you leave?

But Abby’s eyes and his eyes lock
And ignite a fiery lust
That singes off all pretense of coyness.
And she marvels
At her body’s bold declaration
To take.

And he is keen on answering her,
With masculine hands—all groping—
And hips—so hoping—
To thrust
To the crackling, crinkling, prickly
Electric sonic boom of a supernova.

Crashing and thrashing
Expanding, exploding
Into a million, billion, trillion
Hot stars
That pierce the black sky
And then collapse,
One by one,
Into greedy black holes
That pull and contort and tug
At the elastic contours of her heart.

Come back, Abby,
Sally calls.
Come with me.
I hear the croak-croak of a toad
And the scuttling feet of little goblin men.

Away, away we go.
We cannot stay.
We took a wrong turn.
We took the wrong path.

They go
And fearless they remain.
 

One thought on “Bloom

  1. Influenced by Christina Rossetti’s “Goblin Market.” Alludes to Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner” and Andrew Marvell’s “To His Coy Mistress.” -Tiffany Galicia

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