Poetry: Selections from Soleil Yakita
The self-important notion of corporeal divinity proclaimed in the gleaming reverie of stained glass and high ceilings
Led me to believe the body was a thing carved of snow-white soap, a cohesive form sculpted with thought, with care, with holy reverence,
Malleable to the gentle impressions left by blessèd thumbs, imbued with an intention that granted superiority.
But in moments of clarity, of guttural self-admittance, I confess—I confess with defeat, I confess with bright triumph—
That I find this breathing shroud which I am tethered to by flesh cords to be no more than a fallible, mechanized marionette,
Some haphazard configuration of blood, bone, and righteous rot: of gristle and sinew and marrow, dying from the inside out.
I am destined only to wither like all flora and fauna, thoroughly devoid of faith and sin, of truth and philosophy
To be consumed in totality by the loving mandibles of the gentle decomposers—will-less, remorseless, godless.
The Event Horizon
The world pulled in around me all at once
My house became the epicenter, the eddy, the tombstone.
A decorated ode to the dead space on the couch
Where loved ones are drawn to the door in tight, cooing groups as if on a pilgrimage
And I, unable to fold further inward, to bear the pulse of the gravity churning behind my navel,
Spill outward like a withering bouquet,
Wilted limbs splayed limply in all directions
Bowing and reaching and giving and consoling and taking nothing for myself until all is dried up.
a brooding lethargy like victorian rot:
all plague masks and posies, corpses and consumption
words trail soot on the walls, thoughts stain with putrid grease;
tongue tastes food as if spoonfed from the ashtray
fine, gritty granules like gravel, sediment, and
misguided sentiments, unspoken resentments
swiftly accumulate like thick glacial refuse
in the warm crannies flush against the optic nerve
and down the curving corridors within each bone:
pebbles crowd like teeth in the carnal catacomb
Soleil Yakita is a recent transfer and undergraduate Creative Writing student at Stockton University, and she has just begun to familiarize herself with the local literary community. She works as a library assistant, English tutor, and (unofficial) printer repairwoman at Atlantic Cape Community College. Soleil is also a clarinetist in the Atlantic POPs Community Band, where she can happily immerse herself in wordless rhythm for a few hours each week. She is just beginning to send work out for publication.
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