Cola Girl
The girl with the cola hair taught me how to strike a match,
And like that, I could snap my finger and click my tongue
and pick the bones out of that.
Tiddles on the brink,
Impeccable deadners, and the crack of the gingham,
Tiger
Balm
Sharp.
She is fragrance of echinacea root, all rhythm and stealth,
Life is a jumpscare for the girl with Coca-Cola hair.
She taught me how to throw a dig and call it as it is not.
She beats me in a stare - this girl with cola hair.
Her flat is urban wonderland, and she's wandering.
She's whistling in the dark amidst the din,
Simultaneously all tart and maltose.
She cries when she laughs, and I am her spittle.
When the credits roll, she's the saccharine standing ovation.
For the sake of patience. She’s waiting.
She's the rolling of eyes without surprise.
She's an inexplicable ache, that bruise that's sweet to touch and touch
She's laevulose - bouquets; none to catch nor throw.
She's the six of one and half a dozen you owe.
She's citronella and starting
Thin film appearance - she's out of nowhere
The Girl with Cola Hair
Polishing Nanny's rings - court jester to a duchess.
The dock leaf allaying sting
She's the exact distance between the moon and sun.
She's the bemusement between winter morning and evening,
She's waning gibbous in the daytime.
She just knows.
She grows like tendril.
The fleshy oyster-like cushion, under her soft palette
And the treasure trove.
She has a relaxed retort beneath her tongue,
Swallowed the pearl.
She does not get lost - time’s lost to her.
A metal spool, for wrapping fools
What my sister loves I too love
She lets it go, she'll let you away with it
Her face is charged with fire and grit
Her verse is taught thread
My Coca-Cola haired sister
Comically coarse quicksilver in tight grip with a choking whisper
My sister with the harpist’s hands and our father's fingers
My sister. With a thousand anecdotes.
Who lives her life like a poem.
My sister with the grace of a war and the sigh of Cassandra.
My sister with machete eyes that flood with song.
My sister, all Jack and Jill - all nimble and quick.
My sister who knows the truth but doesn't shoulder its weight.
My sister with the frame like home
A Cola haired sister scales the narrow gate.
25th March 2020
A poem by Elayne Adamczyk Harrington.
Elayne Adamczyk Harrington, also known as Temper-Mental MissElayneous, is a multidisciplinary artist, rapper, and art educator whose work spans institutional critique, hip-hop, punk, and socially engaged practice. Rooted in Dublin’s working-class culture, she explores themes of power, identity, and resistance through visual art, music, and education.
This is the first in a series of poems from Karl and Elayne, centered around family members of both poets.
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