Smudges by Olivia Cipperman art by Belle McDonald
I sing a line to life, to me, an ode that’s all my own, I sing of many colors, which I smear across my skin. I sing from my white bones and from the rainbow of my soul, And write the score upon myself so you can sing along. My first quest was a barbeque. Smoke and scent and damp summer greenness, piled high on soggy paper plates. To hold my jeans, Hippolyta’s girdle–a golden belt that cost four dollars To glide across the sprinkler-dewy lawn, Mercury’s shoes–my favorite pair of ratty flowered vans. I’m wearing a warrior’s pigment Dark eyes with the mess all around. I’m showing off my power here Purple glitter, black liner, dark and dark and dark. I want to see. I want to be seen by EVERYONE. I glare. I sing of black eyeliner, sharp as twin spears. I sing of smudgy lipstick, matte or dark or gold gold gold. I sing of too much highlight, patted EVERYWHERE. I glitter. The second quest was Delaware, the stage within the woods. We entered together, gluing the stars to our skins. Above my knees, a tiny dress–for I am prismatic and flighty as Iris. Below my feet, a muddy ground–it stains to remind me I live. I’m full of light and song and lemonade. You can see it on the outside with the stars, With the sparkle. I am alive. I am in love with EVERYONE. I gleam. I sing of sweat smudging my facepaint, charging through the brush I sing of the blue and pink shine on my nose, howling along with a stadium crowd I sing of diving headlong into saltwater, coming up with inky tears smearing from my eyes. 8 • bite size
The third quest was a snowy night, your scrunchedup face beneath my pen. Stay still! Stay calm! We are both lightly trashed. It is only a trembling line, only a ghost-laugh that echoes on tile, only a night made of snow. Across blue skin, a netted shirt–I am Khione, and I fear no cold. The spotlights make the snowflakes dance. They’re dancing to my song. I sing of your thighs pressed up against my knees, your soft palm on my cheek, your fluttering brush a butterfly upon my eyelids. I sing of long walks in a perfumed coat, blue lids matching a blouse that matches the sky. I sing of a dark lip. I sing of a black heart. I sing of tiny dots, golden stars, making pretty messes. I sing, I scream, the elements of my own epic ode I write my song and paint my words across my canvas bones.w
