Inklings 2021

AMALGAMATION CONSERVATION Alexandra Prio-Touzet nestled between my ring finger and my lips, my hip bone? knife-sharp. begging to cut- when i hand you my tired little basket, i want you to keep it. dull my sides, unwind me and i can sleep another night. for now, i remain a geocentric weapon. so i place my bouquet back back into its rib cage trophy case leading me to ruminate all over again; stuck on a riddle stuck on the growing stuck on the empty, but shuddering gap that feels entitled to exist all the while wanting nothing more than to be filled. you fill me up; i pour my heart out. we breathe together and you still don’t understand what that means. so i hand you my heart in a handwoven basket to show you what it looks like. grey; speckled with understandings, and misunderstandings, and other synonyms like fear and love. we speak of flower language and weeds and how anything means everything when you need something, i tell you i can’t sleep; you don’t understand that you may be the pill, the silencer of a brain well-spoken. the possibility aches. i’ve convinced myself that love is the symptom while relying on it to be the cure- how can i hope that the world will get better when i can’t decide what should? yes. this is the hurt, the rut, the gear in which i’ve found a familiar home PETALS AND PEACOCKS Kerryn Xu 23