n i n a l i c o o m e s

n i n a l i c o o m e s

'the last time you took an airplane'

eve to her maker; in defense of hunger

‘the last time you took an airplane’
	at its widest, the pacific ocean stretches roughly 12,000 miles deriving its name from the french word ‘pacifique’ uttered first, allegedly, by Magellan, who found its waters peaceful, pacifique Magellan dies in 1521, crushed in the philippine philistine fist of this tranquil titan obituary penned in salt water, like an ill fitting name the waves of her water flood black with blood-salt and bloated tuna-belly orange rinds the crossing is thirteen hours, 780 minutes to realize that i have measured my life in this migration like monarch butterflies flocking to sapphire tipped canyon edges i become the back and forth gravitation of a moon bounced between foaming crests if you were to shave a cross section of me maybe there are rings nicked with each trip, a perforation for each gate, each awning to bow my knees over never step on the raised door-edge it is bad luck child the last time i found myself in this 43 thousand second polyester cocoon garrisoned like a coffin bearer without the right shoes for the mud that morning, heavy handed i carry the memory of you like daisies like black-eyed susans, all frail stemmed and wilting i clench the funeral of you through security through customs through the elephant trudge to find seat 32 D i handle you like a breaking vase in my quilted whimper i hum your name over the roar of take-off engine, i hold you so tightly my knuckles turn milk frost we are over canada, alaska, we are screeching to the edge of land and into her reaches, her india-ink sleeves dripping with obsidian, i am over laying your face with every thing i have had to give up at her border every good bye every hello every word learned and now lost but you are too heavy for me, you are too whole and soul and now it is thirteen hours of letting you go, it is thirteen hours of laborious alchemy, transmute you from urn to wedding processional to relearn you from ash, as rose petal, they say magellan knew peace in this untouchable expanse of blue, they say he died in this peace that they would say this about us, then.
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eve to her maker; in defense of hunger
	listen, no one ever tells you what a body looks like i, who, have only known the skim of your fingers lily padding across my breast the molten mold of palm to hip you made me rib-to-rib graphing me on bone-axis this body borne of need interlaced independent : dependent on this linear language of longing this long, long, longing, you made me think i looked like something to hold on to all red oak & handle all butter leather & panel how could you know? how could you know what it feels like to have the wind whistle a jagged tune through the interwoven winter branches of me? you, who have never tasted the sweet cradle of a serpentine apology? you, who have been full from the swollen beginning of time, satiated and sentient, i've seen it ----how i am naked this broken bruise of a body i have felt the uneven earth spread clod across cower -----o, my beloved coward would you have told me the lie in your hands? would you have admitted the falsehood in your lips? (the first thing i noticed in this new nudity this graceless guise the rice paper between us it made sense you were distant you always seemed so silhouette. beloved i knew now this is how we are separate. )
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NINA LI COOMES is a poet and blogger in the city of Chicago. She is the 2012 LTAB College Indie Slam champion, co-founder of University of Chicago’s Catcher In The Rhyme, and the creator of poetic lifestyle blog www.opaquerie.com. Most recently, she was a member of the Wort.Word.Licht poetry tour of Germany as sponsored by the US Embassy. In her spare time, she plays the piano and runs too much.

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