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M.  L E N O I R  B O N D
2 poems

Porcelain Skin

I am flakes of jagged porcelain

reflecting the nearly full moon.

The thrift store tea sets, faded

flower prints and beige Saturnian stains,

bought simply for the indulgence

of hurling them against the concrete

slab in a deep blue backyard.

The sharp blast of a perfect

smash, a new universe

of unwavering, shimmering stars.

Is it really the sound, or is it

the hard pitch? Or is it something

entirely different, the contrastive

silence after there is nothing

left to break.

A black and white French film,

that quick eruption

of the argument, then

the even more brutal, long

lasting tenderness of making up.

Merde, mon amour,

allume moi une fumée?

Asteraceae Silybum marianum


I was born of a hundred tiny horns

balancing on hollow stems

reaching into the earth’s dark navel.

In spring, my soft purples and bright greens

pull in the attention of pollinators.

Advice to humans: you must witness

a bumblebee falling asleep at dusk

in the middle of a blackberry blossom

amid a gauzy summer breeze

to become truly complete.

I, too, am a thing to be viewed,

but also to never be touched.

My hooking claws

are always ready

to snag fur or feathers or skin

with the precision of arrows.

I am the symbol of a once stentorian

country, now softened by its

hills of verdant glaze and weather-

smoothed, craggy introductions.

Come autumn, I go beige and

begin to grey, brittle under rains

after months of lemon-yellow sun.

My spikes remain even as

I crumble into the slumber season.

M. Lenoir Bond, 2 poems: CV

M. Lenoir Bond graduated from University of Southern California with a BA in English/Creative Writing and Theatre, and holds an MFA from Pacific University in Writing/Poetry. She’s published online journalistic pieces about silent films and fairy tales, and serves as a fiction editor for The Molotov Cocktail and a poetry editor for Phantom Drift. M. has work published in Prairie Schooner, Best New Poets, december, Rust + Moth, Belletrist, and more. She’s a little obsessed with the phases of the moon, plant medicine, and spending time at the ocean.

M. Lenoir Bond, 2 poems: Text
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