No End in Sight & other poems
I had a wand of wishes
when I was five. You want a tail?
I could make two. And teacups too.
But not the tea.
Betamax desire. I had a dress
you couldn’t see. Technicolor.
Ruby-slippered. There’s no place
like a mother’s mirror.
You want a daughter?
Is a broom without a head.
The dull sink sparkles
with a wave and some detergent.
Silverscreen falsetto. Antenna.
I could make you disappear
behind a backward dance. Rewind.
So close your eyes and swish.
Every wish deserved its mensch,
meaning its man, the neighbor
entering the house in afternoons
to watch the wigless witch’s legs go shimmer.
No End in Sight
When it came to the room,
we fixed it up. The nightmare locks.
The shiny watch. The idea
was to give one hand
and take away the other.
The guards would frisk our mother.
Her empty purse would keep
our father on the street.
I did a crummy job
of putting red tape on the floor.
Jamming the door with a lip.
Your wrists could breathe
beneath the manacles. I showed you
your picture when you were four
before the blindfold.
The idea was to sketch
a blueprint of ourselves
as brothers. Find
the flower. Endless parole
of summer. Then, the machine
announced your number.
An Honor, A Pleasure
The neighbor washed the kill
at the yard faucet. Fish and gill.
It flickered still.A silver fin in water.
We hadn’t been invited to the feast,
but didn’t complain. We craved the huge indoors,
who hungered under. We spelled the name of mourn.
We couldn’t tell if rich was what we wanted: apartment,
lumberjack, bordello, concubine.
The morning after was always
someplace else. Define the weather.
What’s yours is mine. Maybe not.
Lawrence Ypil. ‘No End in Sight & other poems’. Queer Southeast Asia: a literary journal of transgressive art Vol. 1. no. 1, October 2016.