all broken and yellow as
antique things tend to be
there is beauty in oxidation, in
the elements eating through metal
like larvae through leaf
the smell of rot—I burrow my face in
like the dust and mildew of
my childhood bed, like my
father’s bulging stomach
finger the sheath of snakeskin,
foreboding, it falls apart like autumn
like me, key worn around her throat,
aphids nesting in the ignition
she awaits cremation,
disassemble, dismember
yellow as mortuary skin, cold as
frozen meat beneath mourning lips
then star matter then decay
then dream turned mausoleum
in a junkyard
Previously published by Pulp Poets Press.
Header photograph © M.Stone.
Rebecca Kokitus is a poet currently residing in the Philadelphia area. She currently attends West Chester University of Pennsylvania, where she studies English with a concentration in Writing. Her work has been published and is forthcoming in over a dozen literary journals.
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