Sophie Ligaya dela Cruz

Cottagecore Girlfriend

My body grows right
out of the ground.
You just have to pull
me out.

I wear cinched-stomach
girdles; my appearance is one of a
Senga Sengana Strawberry,
the kind with rosy, grinning juice bursting from its
speckled flesh, with
blushing, jaundiced cheeks
grown full. And perched
upon my waist
stand whitewashed, silken fences,
creamy like a bell’s muffled song,
pleated softly
(like my smile)
against my stretched and shaven legs.
Look closer: I wear

Socks with silken ruffles
patterned with baby-headed grape
vines that inch up my
calves. On my bosom, a
robin’s nest takes roost — lacy
feathers climb my sternum
and my cloudless
honey skin like
glass on a bamboo mirror.
Do you see me?

I’m not hard
to miss if you know
where you’re
looking — I’m
just underfoot where
you tread.

A shape (almost a girl):
long, but diminutive enough to lay
its head on a
lover’s broad, flat chest,
his arms around me like roots
entrapping the soil; his words coarse
like ice against grey gravel; his breath a
crackling sting like a
shock through a current. I wilt
against his thorns.

So I beg you, the
Garden Snake, Koi Pond, and
Dryad — free me from these
mortar-concrete shackles —
entwine my hand in
your pretty petal fingers —
fill my tired head with
lilting birdsong.

What will happen once
we are free?
Will we dance until
the sky blinks auburn shades?
Our skirts will float as
winds recall my name. Will I
lay your head upon your
gingham lap? You’ll stroke my
midnight hair and speak of
joy. Will you embrace my silken,
pleated waist? I’ll laugh and lean against
your pistil shoulder. Will your sunlight words
brush soft against my skin? Lightning
strikes and
kisses close the soil.

I think it’s possible. It
can’t be so hard
if you are there
with me.
I’ll relish in your flaxen
laughter. I want to lie
where all the
lilies are.