I catch the milk-white slant of light
In calcium-coated canvas —
The waters thicken to bile,
Crusting to the organ
I think of the floods when
I exit – my mother’s bones
Thick w/ algae — she holds
Me to her rivers; ash clouds
Reflected in her veins
In the wet, we become soot-soft
Bartering our bodies w/ loose
Pebbles
I replace my sternum w/ a rose
I keep the stone of my breast clean
I plaster it with sunlight –
A polished cemetery-green
I hollow out my skin,
A wet cave
в теле | в тепле
I’ve got a stagnant urge for hunger
My teeth clatter to static’s
Pulse / my hums
Thicken w/ echoes
& my tired spit kisses what lingers:
Your parted lips of velvet
We laugh w/ our mouths open,
Drinking up the clouds
& the sky smiles back:
Wet w/ laughter – the
Jaw escaping its hinges
i slice thru river w/ my palm
bury moon’s orbit in my belly: an open seed,
metastasizing
here emerges the wave: bloat-damp
over winnowing earth
i/eye glimpsing – w/ moss-
coiffed iris
i watch the sky turn from black to blue:
a reverse bruise
Rina Shamilov is a queer poet and visual artist from Brooklyn, New York, born to Soviet immigrants. Her chapbook, My Mother's Armoire, was published by Bottlecap Press. Her manuscript, Hungering: Dance of the Figurines, has recently been named a finalist in Black Lawrence Press' Immigrant Writing Series contest. She is a nonfiction editor at MAYDAY and a reader for Fence Books. Her work has either been featured in or is forthcoming in Antiphony Press, The Laurel Review, Club Plum Lit, Kismet Magazine, Ranger, Heavy Feather Review, and Another Chicago Magazine, among others. The Academy of American Poets has recognized her work, and she received a Best of the Net nomination.
