Eva Griffin

Flightless Girl, American Debutante


In all extravagance I admit to wanting you,
as if I have forgotten my good graces
for the season, where I will emerge
green, peacocking for love’s grand arrival.

 Hoping someday to die quickly, I keep my
face tender like the peeling of a delicacy
from its wrapper. There is no time for any
breakage, only to feel alive when called

 dear, darling, dearest; yes, my god,
                each night I unlace the corset
                from my singing ribcage,
                and the hunger takes wing.

Eva Griffin lives in Dublin. Her pamphlets ‘Fake Hands / Real Flowers’ (2020) and ‘one last spin around the sun’ (2021) were published by Broken Sleep Books. Poems appear or are forthcoming in bath magg, The Stinging Fly, Poetry Ireland Review, Abridged, and elsewhere.

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