Jawbone, Ribcage

Emily Holman

I

Split

[The chord of my brain as it connects to] [] [my spine snaps; thoughts gone, gone] Myself

Apart,

[My spine snaps, a snare trap of my own] [] [melancholy design, hospitalized within] From

Underneath

[Profound enchantments, spellike words,] [] [if I even am who I say I am; beginnings] My

Jaw,

[Entrails, tingling numbness, bleeding] [] [hearts, beating to an eerie chanting] Tearing

My

[I shake a bony hand; where is your skin?] [] [disintegration, if I fall apart entirely] Tongue

In

[A heavenly blue pours out of me, exhaust] [] [by formalities, by ritualistic movements] Two,

To

[Autopsied, on a cold silver table, open] [] [and spoon-fed wild herbs and potions]

Expose

My

[Breathe in; the cold air fills my lungs] [] [up to its ballooned capacity, now warm]

Humanity,

Revealing

[Thrums and thralls of an otherworldly] [] [power, disembodied voices call to me] Worms

And

[Who puzzle-pieced me together before,] [] [assembling lamb for slaughter, for god?] Rot

And

[No longer made of metal, jellied eyes] [] [leap from my skull. I can grow again.] Blood.

More from Emily Holman ↓

• @maximumsparrow on Instagram
• Her chapbook Dreamscapes of the Metaphysical is published through 318 Journal.

Mentioned in this episode:

Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem Only

Write After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.

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