Christine MacKenzie

LOTUS

a lotus tightly husked in young green sheets pierces / black settled mud / as it rises / clasped in
itself / like an unborn chick / pressured in wet chalk walls. gardens set afloat in stardust ripples
are no less common in each fiber of our own bodies. she splashes you with mud / skirt clutched
in hand as she wades knee-deep / black flecked onto your cheeks / arms / a white lotus tucked
into your black curls. we want to set sail / on these little paper boats that bristle among stalks of
sturdy reeds. but we swim tirelessly like a whale / thrashing in a fishbowl / until laid out silent /
cut up with broken glass to dry out / in the cool nectar air. so golden / flamed as a virgin kiss
smearing mud on your neck / how much it hurts to have ever been born. how much it hurts to
still see her two shining eyes / silver-clouded / closed in a dream / seen in large yellow fruits /
solid flower cores circling in the water. a lotus spreads open its petals as the dead unfurl their
fingers / against wooden boxes / under earth their silver skin cannot gleam / like lotus tubers
buried under salt beds. 

Christine MacKenzie has a B.A. in English, creative writing and psychology from the University of Michigan-Ann Arbor, and will start an MSW in Interpersonal Practice in fall 2020 to become a therapist. Previously, she has been published in literary journals such as Susquehanna, The Inflectionist Review, Red Cedar Review, Fourteen Hills, The Merrimack Review, and elsewhere.