"Dialogue Between Lady Macbeth and Gertrude, On Marriage" by Vanessa Niu
Dialogue Between Lady Macbeth and Gertrude, On Marriage
G: the sun, an egg yolk cracked on the horizon.
apricot preservative. tin of night desecrated into
a dirty blond skyline. the space between the
eyelids, like scrapyards before dawn, a space
dedicated to preservation, between dark and birth.
M: when we dedicate something to preservation, it is
already half-dead, eyes as glazed as white marbles,
fine china with a chip in its side, the surrounding air
permeated with silence thick as morning smog.
becoming oceanic cosmic fluorescent machinery.
G: then the lovers, cradled in something half-dead,
who cross the street enthroned in the red light. song
dribbling through clenched teeth. stumbling. the
mother wound, a birthmark. color blossoms, blood
wine-dark over the carpet receiving, annunciating.
M: then thirst. the sepulcher fills like a fish tank and
water becomes air. an arachnid fear, an underwater
blindness and a tongue, arms reaching out to
relearn the feeling of danger. glistening cement
red to green, blue to black, lust to greed to anger.
G: but wherefore does the lovers’ embrace arrive whilst
waiting at the laundromat? the place of impermanence
and of cycles never-ending. the communal machine,
our porcelain tomb? the shadow of domesticity? of
the eagle song slowly losing momentum, music box.
M: think, lover, of your cycling. of the mother’s, preemptive.
yours. and the child’s? the question is whether the burden
of a life that is not yours can fit in a satchel and be slung
over a back worn by carrying its own bones. life gathered
in a thing half-dead, shelled and tied, bouquet — given.
(Silence from Gertrude. A slow percussion can be heard from afar.)
Photo Credit: Staff