Two Poems By: Melissa Lee-Houghton

Having previously appeared on The Quietus in Bobby Parker's first All Tomorrow's Voices column, this week's new writing comes by way of two poems from Melissa Lee-Houghton's new collection Beautiful Girls

Melissa Lee-Houghton’s first collection is published by Penned in the Margins. Her second collection, Beautiful Girls, also published by Penned in the Margins, is a Poetry Book Society Recommendation.

Her poetry and fiction have been published widely, most recently in Tears in the Fence and New Walk. She has written fiction for BBC Radio Four and writes reviews for The Short Review.

Dimensions

I become more afraid of your body every year. Its tenderness

and its strength squeeze me down to a little cube of love,

all sides shimmering and melting at once;

Every year I become more afraid of your body,

of your almond skin that breaks a sweat like the first droplets

from a dam. Behind your skin there’s an ocean.

Your body, every year, is becoming more afraid.

My colours are fading because you have licked them,

and one day you will not rouse me when I wake in colour.

All of me and all of you drinks of the fear in my heart.

Erasure is never complete. I try to imagine you without a body.

In the heat of the night we sing like tin.


My Lovelies

I had a vivid imagination.

We lived behind a factory

that blocked out the sun.

My mother would stitch old ladies’ slippers in silence,

my new teeth cutting through

with the quick taste of blood that I savoured.

I suspected I was not the only girl

of my kind.

My sister warned me about vampires

when I was six, and I lost my pig heart

in an old wooden box filled with dismembered teddies.

The foam innards irritated the flesh.

I would climb into my sister’s moody bed,

where the dark sneaked under the covers like smoke

as I lifted them so quietly —

her cold legs wouldn’t fasten with mine

and when I woke her

she’d rage and shout and push me out

to go and sleep with the rotten vampires.

But the vampires grew to love me.

They lay with me like fathers, sons.

Sometimes I would wrap my legs around them,

my pussy pushed up against their thighs,

and I would pray for them.

I had a vivid imagination, my mother said.

But I suspected I was not the only one.

When I stayed in his house I took

my beloved vampires with me to suck

on his rubber neck — to suck, to suck.

But he was impenetrable.

And I had a vivid imagination.

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