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The Interdisciplinary Work of Lyss England

Posts from the Poetry Category

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I’ve been listening to poetry
For hours trying to find
Something that feels as familiar
As you did the first time you
Introduced me to the static
Of this world that mid summer
Burning
Crimson
Red hot
Rose petal
True love
My mother
You were like a Friday evening
And I was Saturday morning
You looked at me like I was
The best choice you had ever made
So when I celebrate you on
This day I am tied to
With the roots of your arteries
On this harvest moon
I’ll hold you at the helm
Of the care that you gave me
While I hear the echo of your
Heeled shoes through the sound
Of the still static.

It’s often the people
Who make shit move
Who decay the slowest
Even though we’re the ones
With the most wear
Because like a leather
We are pliable after years
Of work and the creases
In these bodies we wear
Have heard stories that
Are enough to
Build bridges through
Literally
Fucking
Anything
Because these bodies we wear
Are enough to house us
And there are moments
We remember to pause
Long enough to repair
Because those broken plywood
Rafters are enough to
Hold shelter through
Literally
Fucking
Anything.

My body was moss
Curled over the edges
Of a mountain
I didn’t even remember
Climbing
So when I curled ’round
The edge to see the
Free fall below
I said to myself,
“it’s okay to leave
Space to grow ’til
Your roots reach the ground”
So I reached my roots
Down and buried them
Until they were so
Warmed by the heat
From the core of
The earth that they burned.

It is easy
To give myself to you
To meet you
Where you are when
You need care
Because I know how to
Give
But when it comes to my
Own circle
This body is covered in skin
Like metal where I
Boil my own insides
To steep the herbs that
Grow from my liver
And as my guts turn
To desert I
Find myself
Far less parched than
Quenched by this
Well I draw from
As you drink.

Maybe care looks like
Goats with red hair
Who always show up
In those dreams that come
First thing in the morning
Last thing before I wake
This year
I’ve thought a lot about
What it means to care
If it means doing
What feels good
Or if it means doing what
I think
I feel
I’m meant to do or
If it means warm blankets
And warmer liquids
And maybe care looks like
Something only I know
First thing in the morning.