Cheekbones and Adam’s apples
That hang off a tree
All the men in my life are statues
poised stoically.
They are polished marble in a hall
A knot caught on their shoulder
Smooth and gentile
I love my army of men
Statues can’t gather dust in the back
of my mind
They can’t shoot themselves up,
Fall into a river,
Or Lose themselves in formaldehyde
Maybe I’ll place them in a gallery.
So they can stay there frozen forever,
For the most part at least,
Alive.
Lucia Kent
Lucia Kent grew up between Calabria, Italy, and Waterford. Having two languages has made writing a mainstay of her life, and her connection to writing has been so strong over the years that it feels like a reflex. Her inspiration doesn’t come in lightning-strikes but in banks of mist whose origin and duration are hard to judge – all that is certain is that she’ll need some paper and a pen. She is captivated by birds, plants, and the sea, because they always bring her to nostalgic realms. She’s currently based in Co. Cork.