by Samantha Lê 

I go on holiday to where 
the Other lives. Numbed forehead 
and penciled lips. I might stay here 
for good. Leave my face 
on the Carrara marble floor. 
Shove the darkness into the corner 
closet where there’s a hole 
dug-out like a hollow tooth. 
Paint won’t stick to it, 
no shade of lipstick can stain it. 

I go on holiday to where 
the Other lives. Made-up. 
Corsetted into my maxi dress 
with matching Jimmy Choos. 
The veins in my neck play 
peek-a-boo. Repeat conversations 
about mayflies—floating deaths, 
short lives—and slow my breathing 
to the rhythm of grapevines. 

_ _ _

First published in From Soul to Paper, April 2014