Annie Lure

Annie Lure

Annie Lure is a poetry salon proprietor and durational performance artist of Mediterranean extraction. She operates worldwide.


In this tableau, my grandmother’s ankles
scab with grape cuticles; the internee’s

hapless step rattles the cobblestones
as if orphaned cradles. How he seeks

succor in my grandmother’s stucco
house: a block of nougat for his trussed tongue.

How the treed pomegranates put together their heads,
ancestors caucusing, and the internee

produces his unconsummated deed-
a hand missing a finger-

and my grandmother lifts her ruddy foot
like bounty out of the trough:

Pay me the remaining 300 LEK[1]
or I’ll have your head like the grapes.

How the first cousin-once-removed
pincers the house like a boa

vowing to excise the internee
as if a house mouse

so that my grandmother can then impute
the house to the cousin’s name.

How the internee returns to the house
as if a darkling son to his surrogate mother.

How the cousin leans like a scepter
against the stucco wall he makes a throne.

And my grandmother is widowed twice over:
a hierodule sans temple.

She stomp-stomp-stomps the grapes
to reconstitute her husband.

[1] Albanian currency

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Poetry in this post: © Annie Lure
Published with the permission of Annie Lure