Burnt island, rocks black —
a circle of salt wet beats
against the monk’s plough.
(But their dark robes dragged
against breath and not breath, feet
meeting the hard facts.
Refuge or prison,
that night pearl or lustrous prank,
osseous, held fast.
Mutineers smelted —
bodies’ mettle at once free
to fuse with that rock;
the soft mantle spit,
her magma mouth now callous,
improbable, dense.)
Ustica by Niki Ford was originally published in Failed States issue no.1: island in September 2017.
Niki Ford considers herself a Californian that just wasn’t born there. She’s a witchy, bisexual, plant and planet lover who writes, makes and experiments at the intersection of art, food, ecology and specific environments.
→ www.nikifordcooks.com
failedstates.xyz 