on mourning, by Sol Camarena Medina

and so i aimed to write an essay on mourning but mourning / spills the way a poem would out of my half-opened mouth / mourning breaks the way hymens do first time falling from your bike / mourning – it’s mama crying at midday, all alone in the living room / mama won’t cry at night out of fear that we’d hear her while asleep / mourning – it’s speaking two different languages and so for the tongue to go numb within your own mouth / mourning sings but it won’t dance / since mourning takes hold but will forget about growing / say it better – mourning grows upside down within the ground / unborn petals singing to the heat of the heart / mourning won’t smash tiny music boxes on the ground – it’s rage doing that / mourning lulls mini ballerinas into numbness / whenever your feet hurt out of turning and turning – it’s mourning / since mourning – it’s to keep turning despite the scab / mourning – it’s to keep kissing despite the stump / you won’t wipe mourning on a tissue – you ought to moisten it so it flows / whenever mourning goes dry – mourning will harden anything, even flesh / turns you into all bone, brittle like glass / mourning, however, whenever it’s liquid / it’ll soak anything, even your skirt / and so afterwards you’ll be able to drain it.


— Published 18th of July 2019


About Sol Camarena Medina

Sol Camarena Medina is a mad lesbian from Valencia Spain + a loud laugher & lover. Born in 1997 she’s self-published 2 poetry books + her poems are part of anthology by FEA Feminista. She runs online page for women artists artebruja & is co-editor for feminist mag La Gorgona.