it’s a sorry thing to feel sorry
for anything other than yourself, i
comb my hair with the styx, i dry
my skin by the flames. when he sleeps
i dream of trees blossoming their roots
deep enough that i can climb further
than the sky meets thunder, though i know
there’s no friend at the end of those
bolts, only pain. the first seed tasted
sweet, like sap from the tree i once
sat by where the bugs that don’t eat
other bugs covered me. the second,
bitter, like it knew it didn’t belong.
witch hazel, rosewater, arsenic,
i wish i knew what would make
this body clean again. the third,
tasted like sex, devoured me
like snakes and i was only a mouse
crouched in its meaty life lines.
i wish i knew how to control
this body containing me. when i
bleed, it looks like the seeds
taunting me. when i sleep i ask
for forgiveness, from no one
but this own tongue who
has forsaken me.
Catalina Adragna is 23 and an MFA Poetry Candidate at Rutgers University–Newark. She has previous publications in The Ascentos Review, Delta Poetry Review, Eunoia Review, and Silo. She is a Gemini and a Pocha. Her Twitter: https://twitter.com/catadragna.