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Poetry

Poetry Issue #77

By Skylar Milkus


Etymology I

Between flashbacks I hear echoes of verb bend,

from Old English bendan, confine, fetter,

how he constrained my body to the corner

where cinema wall kissed floor, my knees

to carpet grime. Causative from bindan, to bind,

as his mouth bound me to service every knot

in his build. Proto-Germanic base band–, string,

matches the rough cord he threaded through

each of my limbs and twitched so I would jerk

for his pleasure. Proto-Indo-European root

bhendh–, bow, be submissive, instructs me to dip

my head, sour my tongue on the taste of undersides.

Also the source of Old Norse benda, strive,

strain, like how it took me six tries to

leave him.


Cringefail Content Slop

What am I accomplice to? Seven years ago

(according to upload history) a woman

is naked & hogtied on someone’s bedroom

floor & tonight I witness her delicious torment,

my earbuds in & towel down. I finish silent

& neat, thighs together cunt down ass up

good slut realness. I swipe up & unlock

a banking app with facial topography.

My balance is $3,129. Bills paid, I summon

Amazon.com for microfiber dusting cloths,

disinfecting wipes, Mrs. Meyer’s lemon

verbena spray to finish sweet. I caress

the cash tips stashed under my mattress;

I do not trust what I am funding.

Ninety students are arrested protesting

at my prestigious alma mater. I flagellate myself

for not joining their encampment, despite

the distance. Am I a coward to not risk

my body, despite the snarls in my half-

working limbs? I don’t want the woman

from the floor; I want my new woman

to invite me back to her place yet I fear

implying so. I want her body to feel safe

when I mash my mouth all over it.

A feminist online calls for my trans

neck to be wrung before she blocks me.

To which causes am I attaching my name,

so newly won, still stumbling on spindly

legs like a new-birthed foal, still slimy

with my family’s residue? Am I a coward

to guard it, my unnatural offspring,

so jealously from the night’s breath?


Cento Composed of Ways to Leave

She laments every night she sleeps in a clean

bright place until she turns to a black hole. Each

 

nightmare begins like a half-remembered song:

Between the two of us, can we keep the salt out

 

of our eyes? She cannot choke a meal down

sober. I cannot expect any more from a carcass.

 

When I encounter the shell of a cicada’s old

outsides, I do not ask it to be animate. So too

 

I molt, sloughing off the Connecticut pavement

and freeing my body from her ghost on the couch

 

at night. One night I am sober on a first date,

talking about my writing, not staring hyper-alert

 

in her queen bed. Somebody else would not ask

permission to ———; I think that must be why

 

she tells me no. Not to stare too directly at

all this breaking. In the Yale Art Museum

 

we see sixteen fragments of the Dead Sea Scrolls

on display. Their authenticity is disputed,

 

which I do not take as warning. We smoke

spliffs on the Charles River Esplanade as

 

I wait for her to leave me.


Body Rumors

 

Desire is a rumor less palpable than god until it dwells deep in the body as my lover does.

My organs are overripe as a pomegranate. She does the tender work of carving me open for crystalline seeds, fat and pornographic and perfect. I pray the abundance of my shape does not turn us chthonic.

Did I know anything of bounty before I knew how her tongue could take and take and take and yet not reduce me by one drop?

My lover strikes me sometimes as ten women – here she is in the library stacks talking too loud about Proust, here she is at the half-empty function begging the DJ to play Phoebe Bridgers,

here in the overpriced café debating the best mocha latte in Northampton, here immobilized by depression on her dorm floor among half-unpacked books,

here applying wine-dark lipstick, here refusing to put me in her poems, here not showering for days, here flying home to Delhi,

here, here, here, here, unzipping me completely.


Nocturnal Aubade

The early-autumn slant of late-afternoon

sun hurts my eyes and I smell petrichor

walking to your apartment after class.

Dusk obstructs our bodies from settling—

 

or is it the dew in your touch agitating

the sediment that basements my shallow pool

of self? My surface ripples like a puddle

when I detect another shadow-walker.

 

You too live like a crepuscular

animal, nosing into my lap at daybreak.

Your papier-mâché eyelids disintegrate

at the first tenderness of dawn’s rosy hand.

 

Until we rest easier, evenings look

like this: Undress me here, then drive me home.

 

By Skylar Miklus

Skylar Miklus serves as Editorial Intern with Electric Literature and Poetry Editor for Barnstorm Journal. They obtained their B.A. in Philosophy from Dartmouth College, and are set to receive their MFA in Poetry from the University of New Hampshire, in 2025. Their writing has appeared in Rogue Agent Journal, Identity Theory, On the Seawall, and elsewhere. They live in Dover, NH, and are working on their first collection, Body Rumors: Poems.