By Rebecca Perry
Rebecca Perry's debut assortment has the duality and symmetry of its identify at its center. Beauty/Beauty is a e-book with tenderness operating via its veins, exploring salvation, reparation, and the fullness of being alive; the trouble of defining what love is, the heartbreak, the far flung associates, the overpowering abundance of items in museums. it really is alive with thoughts, with outdated loves striking round within the corners of darkish rooms, ghost mouths hidden contained in the mouth you're kissing, and eulogies to dearly departed pets. every one poem creates its personal tiny international to be lived in and explored; a stegosaurus is cherished, 1000000 silver spiders play useless, a listing of vegetation is absolutely not a listing of plants, cute canine are looking to be acquaintances, the flightless develop wings, and the celebs flip eco-friendly.
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Additional resources for Beauty / beauty
There is a Japanese word meaning to repair broken pottery with gold. * Two days alone and I’m talking to the chilli plant – watching the red seep through the last green one like a limb coming to life. I never noticed how long the light bulbs take to be bright. I also realise I don’t know the way anywhere. The streets always just appeared before. 31 * The sky is darkening. How to explain the sadness I feel in winter, which is a sadness inextricable from winter. A sadness specific to the cold, which sickens my skin.
If I tell you it’s raining here, you ask how much rain. You see snow on the news and it makes you sad. You have started taking pictures. The bougainvillea across your sister’s face – two exposures of two lovely things. You send me a picture of a rubber duck 37 on a windowsill – one perfect half of bright orange beak, bright yellow body and the other half bleached almost grey. You say the sun is a big tongue; it is licking the flavour from everything. You say a boy you went to school with jumped from a roof, that heroin there feels like a ghost no one will believe in, even though it is moving things in front of your eyes and throwing knives across the kitchen.
He has a short film in his mind of his own creation. He plays it over and over. It is not a slow process of growth, but his bones coming together like synchronised swimmers, slotting into place perfectly. Then, a feeling of strength, being freshly born each day. Of a good and solid structure – a constant energy, tiny bees under his skin. His arms and legs were small, mighty columns – capable of stopping the sky from falling. His eyes, an excellent brown like freshly dug earth after rain, 61 would look directly at the sun, taking everything in.