TOMATO SOUP

Why can I not look away, as you 
ladle my favourite scarlet puree
into a patterned cream majolica
bowl, this composite
effusing grassy odours and ripe
roiling resentment, my twin, 
gestated over
nine endless months?

I have grown to relish our mutual
sharing of remorse,
mother, topped with a dollop of
cream and a chilly smile,
and your very own seasoning of
distilled tears, acrid
rage and sharp curses I first
tasted in the womb.

You fill my bowl to overflowing,
yet, you begrudge me 
every breath. My fevered brow
burns hotter, as I
savour each spoonful, a cold,
cruel searing I do not 
comprehend constricting my
throat, shards of dead,
dried herbs lacerating its walls.

Hatred of myself will always be

a breathless, acrid scraping

within, a formless flaying  
redolent of your famed
tomato soup and my own blood.

© 2014 Lily's Verse

Lilium Candidum

Image: IN THE GARDEN
Source: www.tumblr.com
Artist: Denis Sarazhin