From The Ophelia Letters
Still better, and worse.
Sometimes I think I can see you,
then the curtains come down like cloud cover.
We should be lying out on the porch
drinking his tequila and getting sunburnt.
We should be hiding each other.
Instead it’s all electrical storms, small talk,
and no way back.
I used to dream you were my brother,
at least then we could kiss in public,
share the bath.
If you were dead I’d push my face into the mud,
shout my teeth down to shivered, diamond grit,
flay the air raw with screaming.
Though it wouldn’t do any good
I’d dance on your grave,
I’d get the dirt from your bones and lick it.
Rebecca Tamás was born in London, and is currently studying for a PhD in Creative and Critical Writing at the University of East Anglia. Her pamphlet, The Ophelia Letters, came out from Salt in 2013, and was shortlisted for Best Poetry Pamphlet in the Saboteur Awards. Her work has most recently been published in Kaffeklatsch, B O D Y and Best British Poetry 2014. You can find her at @RebTamas.