top of page

"MOONSKIN STRETCHED OVER AGARWOOD" by Alana Seena

I let it creep up

the sage-throated walls

and roost

While the body crawls

out of the room.

The kitchen walls whisper

about spoiled milk

and trying again.

Cry about it!

The body snaps,

seizing a fistful

of honey-nuts.

Meanwhile

i’m somewhere

on the ceiling,

picking the whites

out of my eyes.

Passing the thin

pearlescent membrane over

the acne prone face

of the moon.

Metalcore hums

about yellowjackets

and i’m fading out

in a red flannel.

Are people sixty percent

freshwater

or saltwater?

Do they ebb

and flow?

Is the moon tugging

at the seas we carry,

begging for company?

The body takes to

the cold wave

of a canvas.

I quickly learn

that drowning

doesn’t feel

like anything.




Alana is a writer from South Florida. Her work has previously appeared in Little Death Lit and Hecate Magazine, notably their Winter 2021 anthology DECAY and inaugural zine FRANKENZINE. Track her down on Twitter @alanaseenah


Comments


bottom of page