Clotho, by Ilona Martonfi
Ensnared in long tentacles of hair, skeletal, toothless, chiseled in marble, I sit here, made of rock, spinning undyed flax, the colour of straw. Daughter of Erebus and Nyx.
Slipping notes. Packing and repacking. Sunshine, not of landscape, but of tiny boxes. Conspiring with Thanatos. Lavender pink cells. Tumours making themselves immortal. Take root. Form spores.
Dialogue with mulberry trees. Shrill flute music. Doorways and long stone staircases.
Orangery in a walled garden. All the unvarnished farm tables. All the reed rush chairs. Dragonfly stained glass. Summers are skin. It has a scent.
wet on wet washes
come, see the white roses
and the moon
This poem is from the author's forthcoming book The Tempest (Inanna Publications, 2022).
Ilona Martonfi is an editor, poet, curator, advocate and activist. Author of four poetry books, the most recent collection is Salt Bride (Inanna, 2019). Forthcoming, The Tempest (Inanna, 2022). Writes in journals, anthologies, and seven chapbooks. Her poem “Dachau on a Rainy Day” was nominated for the 2018 Pushcart Prize. Artistic director of Visual Arts Centre Reading Series and Argo Bookshop Reading Series. QWF 2010 Community Award.
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