Origin Story
By Alexis Kayser
Child, firstborn.
Running from the cathartidae,
Fleeing from the scent of her own imminent decay.
Tapeworm.
Curdling in her stomach.
Preying on her vigor.
Flames.
Lashing out from under her fingernails.
Performing a silent opera for her wrist.
Whetstone.
Sharpening autumn leaves down her spine.
The grimacing. The gallant.
Thunderhead.
Digits of fallen winterglass.
Sidewalks choking on divine liquid sin.
Hatred, the gut of it.
Chocolate covered ice.
Eggshells that walk back.
Poetry.
Seeping into her forehead like anointing oil.
Carving a conscience into severed sulci.
All of it.
None of it.
Chaos.
Still.
Gasping.
Drowning.
And child, firstborn.
Sleeping with a frozen quilt upon the in-between.
Child, firstborn.
Running from the cathartidae,
Fleeing from the scent of her own imminent decay.
Tapeworm.
Curdling in her stomach.
Preying on her vigor.
Flames.
Lashing out from under her fingernails.
Performing a silent opera for her wrist.
Whetstone.
Sharpening autumn leaves down her spine.
The grimacing. The gallant.
Thunderhead.
Digits of fallen winterglass.
Sidewalks choking on divine liquid sin.
Hatred, the gut of it.
Chocolate covered ice.
Eggshells that walk back.
Poetry.
Seeping into her forehead like anointing oil.
Carving a conscience into severed sulci.
All of it.
None of it.
Chaos.
Still.
Gasping.
Drowning.
And child, firstborn.
Sleeping with a frozen quilt upon the in-between.
