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OMEGA | Gabrielle Marceau
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Gabrielle Marceau

05 Aug Gabrielle Marceau



The Tulips
know I hate them – waited until
I was out to leak and droop and die
all over my books.

A slip of hard dark – then gash red – that was them
talking chemicals last night.

A flower is an animal in reverse –
brain on the bottom, sex organ on top
(tonight he helped me pull off my tights,
my feet in the air).

Fuck those laughing Tulips.
I know they hear me in the kitchen
fumbling around for his glass of water –

they can tell what’s really going on
when I slither back into bed.

But the Orchids are just arching their backs – me, me, me

Folded up – a purple labellum
idling on white sheets.

Plants are alive
their limbs touch the air
and are changed.

Those Orchids are in a bad state –
twisted towards and away from
the window –

they have to listen all night,
to our chemical talk.

I can’t help that my limbs touch his air
and are changed.

We all have to eat:
sometimes he gets full up and snaps
like a cold stem

and in the morning
sticking out my ass – me, me, me

The Tulips say –





When the girl in the tiger suit
crashed her bike and thought of
nothing to do but take a photograph;

the grass was something,
the dirt and cement too,
but the feeling wasn’t much.

And it wasn’t like talking
to you reminded me of anything
but my breath made new sounds
and the film flashed and
somewhere deep under the earth
future films writhed.

An animal wanders
from one side of the screen
to the other – there!

There was something in the trees
that made me think of death,
it shuddered and shushed but
must have eventually gone to sleep.

The girl in tiger grew stripes for real
and turned on us. I felt rumblings
and lay down in the mud – head

The film was about science,
or about god, but definitely about dinosaurs.

The Tiger/Girl disappeared
into the trees and a few dozen yelled
along with the actor’s famous lines.

And your knee was there
next to my shoulder, deep under.

Deep under:
a few worms and roots
something unknown,
three bottles, a folded paper.

Up here it all sounds like breath
to me, the wind and the movie
and it is so warm tonight we could
almost be somewhere else.

Love sometimes feels like falling back,
like fiery sun – red flesh, like thundering death.

But sometimes the sun comes up cold
and clearing and you walk me
to a dinner to drink mimosas.



Gabrielle Marceau is a writer and artist living in Toronto. She has written for Adult Mag and Carbon Paper and is an editor at The Fuck of the Century.

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