by Sofie Verraest
have you paid, ever, front-row tickets when really
you didn’t have the money, ever
in your brief history have you – asked
at the entry to the club the massive bouncer –
had the bitter chocolate sweet orange after pain
or pleasure carved the hole in you of hunger
you look pretty, honey, don’t get me
wrong, I like your skirt your short earrings your twins
of twinkling eyes, but – asked the bouncer who
was like those houses on the coast not houses but
stone dark caves cut from the cliff in which
the cliff reveals itself and shows
a deep stony nature –
but have you waited longer, ever, than your patience
for the gift of your life? because you look pretty, made-
moiselle, I’d say things to you in the street
cavernous and dark, but this here (a thumb
thrown over his shoulder) this place the way it’s
sunk below the last layer of bone and bone
dust, I don’t know, it’s true you look
cute but the stone here is all (he
knocks it) mineral
so, have you – asked the bouncer finally,
asked his toes now, asked the air – this
place, have you ever imagined it flat, the seas
would cry right off, have you – asked
the bouncer, asked me like a man
on the coast and stared up past my shoulder
at the rough of the rock and the stony night –
have you – asked his stony eyes, mouth a deep
cave – have you – swallowed one stone
after another so it got hard
to hear his final word – girl?