~ a contrapuntal in four parts ~
I have fenced off the space that selfinhabitedbetween four corners of wood and steel
in phantom limb-scars of barkbutknotted eyes of concentric stria are
still watching
ringing chain-linked earsandgaping muzzles in voiceless metal
listening in
beneath clutches of parch-packed earthclingroots that once wanted to surface-stem
dirt now strangled dry
the only green herescattered corpse lengthin ash-sprung anemones of weeds
evidence of what survivedwar and what was lostwilling to forget danger the costs
of fear aftershocks of firebreathing on wet skinburning tsunamis in my gut
each wastedwindblown wisheroding the body
terrain of littered glass and fabricfragments heldoverhead grazing against thighs
waking me to their bark-sungin witnessmounting each other to reach me
then now on this land wherenothing grows butgraves looking for their sisters
buried selves rebirth flesh inthese freesiasof indigo yellow and magenta
mouths openfacing fragrant sky
Celeste Colarič-Gonzales (she/her) is a writer/artist/mother living in Oakland, CA on unceded Chochenyo Ohlone land. She is earning her MA in poetry and MFA in fiction at SFSU, as the recipient of several awards, including the Marcus Fellowship. When not writing or reading, she paints, does old school analog photography, or otherwise crafts. You can find her words+ in/forthcoming from NELLE Literary Journal, Woodcrest Magazine, The Ana and Transfer, where she has served as Poetry Editor and Editor-In-Chief.