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Royal Festival Hall (Level 5), Southbank Centre, LondonOpen Tuesday – Sunday from 12 noon – 8pm
Enitharmon ; Rampant Lions Press
I want to go back now, through the buzzing darkness.
I want to go into that humming hive awake,
wearing the net curtain you called my veil.
I want to walk down childhood’s garden
as that girl who married her mother,
through the marguerite bed
to that nest, where my bee-queen lies
deep in her brood chamber.
I want to see the honeycomb of your mind.
I want to look into your compound eyes
where I’m reflected as an angry swarm.
I want to be that daughter whose mother has stung her
because she’s a rival,
who’s still pumping venom into her.
I want to be that childless worker
who dared to sting back, shreds
of my torn abdomen hanging off you
as I leave my stinger behind.
I have cleaned the window of my self until I gleam.
I want you to see how radiant I am
on this, my wedding day.
With all the love I now know,
I want to brush the halo of your hair
that’s grown into a comet
and mend the delicate rays of your wings.
I’ll place royal jelly in your coffin for your last flight
and close the moonlit petals of your face.
Hurt no living thing:
Ladybird, nor butterfly,
Nor moth with dusty wing,
Nor cricket chirping cheerily,
Nor grasshopper so light of leap,
Nor dancing gnat, nor beetle fat,
Nor harmless worms that creep.