BY MAYA TRIFUNOVIC.
Golembody, deliver me to mine own flesh. Pluck harpstrings from my tibia in step with
the melody of my uneven gait.
Borrow handfuls of daffodils from this godwilling spring. We have already cleaved
January in two, let the rest pour across sand like a godwilling wave.
How can death and yellow sit in the same sentence? How can these motions sit at all?
Silverspoon of apricots borrowed from last spring gird my unsteady will this morning.
I wish that I could whisper to you the undercurrent of my mothertongue. Slipt away into
memory, meaning echoes at the edges of English.
We are from the same family! Do you hear me like I hear you? Have you seen my
siblings? Which dendrite leads to the longforgotten cave where our spirits sleep in
Maya Trifunovic is a creative living in San Francisco. Raised in multi-generational Franco-Serbian households, their work explores themes related to memory, addiction, embodied recovery, language and the natural world. You can see examples of their work at www.mayatrifunovic.com or on Instagram @_shmermaid.