Letter to My Older Sister 5

dear Georgiana,

                 trying to do something to shake off this
                                 post holiday boohoohoo.
                 as you know, i've been poking at baby sis again.
                                 she looks like
                 strawberry shortcake, but watch the hardtack
                                  underneath. it'll
                 crack your teeth. it would be victory over
                                  raging hearts
                 should we manage to become friends. but that's
                                  going to take more
                 vital stuff than i have to bleed. put that on hold.

                 besieged and collapsing under the weight
                                  of my gift. love
                as i live it seems more like Mercurochrome
                                  than anything else
                i can conjure up. it lo0oks so pretty and red,
                                  and smells of a balmy
                coolness when you uncap the little applicator.
                 ​​​​​​​                 but swab it on an
​​​​​​​                 open sore and you nearly die under the stabbing
                 ​​​​​​​                 burn. recovery
​​​​​​​                 leaves a vague tenderness and an India ink-red
                 ​​​​​​​                 splotch that'll
​​​​​​​                 vanish between one scrubbing or another

​​​​​​​                 Mama's favorite lipstick used to be a sultry
                 ​​​​​​​                 red violent
​​​​​​​                 that segued into the hue of sangria when
                 ​​​​​​​                 applied to her
​​​​​​​                 full rose-brown lips. i liked watching her
                 ​​​​​​​                 slick moves as
​​​​​​​                 she studied her face over the dressing
                 ​​​​​​​                 table mirror, but
​​​​​​​                 best was show she briskly slipped it
                 ​​​​​​​                 from her purse
​​​​​​​                 while sitting in the car, cupping her compact
                 ​​​​​​​                 in one palm while
​​​​​​​                 she uncapped the tube with a flick. One twist
                 ​​​​​​​                 of the brass
​​​​​​​                 canister's butt, and the stick rose for duty

​​​​​​​                 the pangs-n-thangs of girlhood are foremost on my
                 ​​​​​​​                 agenda of items suppressed.
​​​​​​​                 they form the Barrier Reef of my consciousness
​​​​​​​                 ​​​​​​​                 like shipwrecked
​​​​​​​                 swabbies, drunk with trauma, washed inland to
                 ​​​​​​​                 a grimmer death
​​​​​​​                 against the shore where rent flesh, first red, 
                 ​​​​​​​                 turns salt white
Copyright Credit: Wanda Coleman, "Letter to My Older Sister 5" from Wicked Enchantment: Selected Poems. Copyright © 2020 by Wanda Coleman.  Reprinted by permission of The Estate of Wanda Coleman, Black Sparrow / David R Godine, Publisher, Inc., godine.com.
Source: Wicked Enchantment: Selected Poems (Black Sparrow Press (Godine), 2020)