kosmogonia

there are no postcards
where i’ve been
though i look for them
taste their absence
in a guinness bottle
there is no echo
in this space
between water and firmament
this waiting
nothing remains
but the cathedral
where i saw you
feeding chickens
your face open
and i was the moon
pouring through your window
a child
praying for rain

we were the beast below
primordial, lovecraftian
size and shape
of manhattan submerged
water thick and dark
pulsing through us
and when we passed
our remains surfaced
became the continent
monolith transfigured
from which they grew
and suckled and fed
yet here i lie
a stranger to my purpose
painting our likeness
on eggs

i carry them with me
in a basket
over soft hills
layered with dew
sun veils brush by
caress your face
you break over me
like a peach
wet and sweet
i weep when
finding our old home
i see you carved
my face in your mirror
kept letters unsent
in your jewelry box
folded and organized
by the hour

this i bear
from door to door
asking for those
who saw you
the hills are harder
on my feet
air thick and dark
at sunset i sell my watch
for a crib
sing softly
rocking our eggs
by firelight
the earth inhales

at midnight i
swallow them
like an asp
jaw dislocated
i crush their shells in my throat
feel them slide down
squirming

i dreamt
we loved in a
walled garden
picked a rose for you
imbued with its own glow
you took it
cried out
four thorns
lodged in your palm
your hand bleeding
over the orchid sprigs
i sucked them
tried to pull them
with my teeth
but you didn’t stop
you kept bleeding
you wouldn’t stop

i wake up
tasting them
retch out each one
breathless, torn open
i hear them screaming

J. D. Snyder is a freelance editor and production coordinator for Scholastic USA. He previously worked on the anthology Poems in the Aftermath: An Anthology from the 2016 Presidential Transition Period by Indolent Books. He lives in Washington Heights.

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