seeds in the chest

by Alexandra Corinth

a pomegranate pulsing
like rhythm wild

my skin is thick flesh canvas
for whim and work
patina on the clavicle
stardust in the marrow

I bleed every shade of street sign

blues gone purple with rust
greens like ever, like sick
soil in the belly, not ready
not for the fire that’s coming
not the water either
the salt, the flicker

I could ask any question of this body
and get the same answer

fingers in the sinew
reaching into the ribs
hungry for fruit
tart, sweet
yours to swallow
mine to bury

I don’t ask you to stop anymore

lamppost on the corner
dragging this shadow
into the darkest rooms
beat of the drum
slowing with the weight

Where have you been?

moonlight makes my smile ache,
never the shape of a perfect crescent
or white enough to illuminate
I will always be something else
the heart of me natural and somehow still damned
misplaced, confused
growing too big for the bones
nuance lost in transmission

I have shown you every piece

no more secrets to stow in my spine
to press against the storm
seduce lightning with wide hip clouds
cycle cyclone cycle
whichever direction feels wrong
against the grain of this wet sand
no beach
no sea urchin hanging from my kneecap
no lungs to hold the oxygen

the breathing stopped twelve years ago
I gasp sometimes but nothing sticks
all the glue releasing me, rejecting me

I am home now
the roof leaks sometimes but
I no longer ask for forgiveness
not for the living things
the ghosts or the violence of my dreams
a cobra sunbathing
blissful


Alexandra Corinth is a disabled writer and artist based in Dallas-Fort Worth. Her chaplet, Deus Ex Diagnosi, is forthcoming from Damaged Goods Press. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Barren Magazine, Entropy, SWWIM, Glass: Poets Resist, and Atticus Review, among others. She is also an editorial assistant for the Southwest Review. You can find her online at typewriterbelle.com.