Absorbia by Hannah Brydges (Sweden, 19)

   as a little girl,
i went to lick the
  sugar drip of every
         blue vein.

         born from satin
  swirls & 7-eleven cigs

        the scent of
         strangers – lure &
        mist, fills me
              through a filter.

the ladies in the
  band; i wore guitar
pick necklaces
   & sang bob dylan
for a week.

      or the man
at the bar. he made
  jane say the h-word.

            dairy queen
         pin-up – her hair
           in my lap, by
              the train tracks.

getting high from
    honeysuckle-air,
trying to sync
    our heartbeats.

     playing truth or
 dare, i stole the
neighbor boy’s
     shirt. lit candles
heavy with wax

     & hyperpop
lip gloss, sticky
      tongue tips of
fingers & lamb
       meat lust

    but he’s too close,
arm-cage. wants
   to try on my skin.

& i’m stuck

   in the corner,
glued to the wall.
   seeing the paper
yellow, fade.

like the body,
  after doors
slammed,  on the
   dew-thick bed.

  pink nano ipod,
beeping  on the
         nightstand.

        turn me to stone
  like medusa’s men.

give me that hard
lava-death of
pompeii’s children.

             lock all of
     the colors inside

  before i start to
mold. such fuzzy,
  ​ dark decay.

jane, jane

she found me still.
   a half-statue song
   ​ & carried me
   ​        into the sod.

rain-wet, new.
    she bathed me to life
   under the pink
    ​harvest
             moon.





Hannah Brydges is a 19-year-old writer from Stockholm, Sweden. Besides writing poetry, her interests include dancing, bouldering and listening to folk rock. You will most likely find her wandering the forest in a white dress. This is her debut poetry publication.