Rachyl Nyoka
INNER ATLAS II: THE ONE WITH FEATHERS
she’s a bottled sky—
thundering within holy canvases,
clutching
her lightning, hoping her talismans will
keep others distant, bring them
close.
wedged between her ribs, dripping irises,
i nurse her tender places–my voice
so low in her chest she mistakes it for
a common beat. barely notices
as i ease her throat, and welcome
her oceans.
how my songs
summon cerulean-cheeked mornings,
where simmering fists loosen into wide palms,
vicious silences melt
into wind, and my voice
is a lilac dawn.
one day,
i’ll unseat her incandescent agonies, and
flood her pupils with
clover and lemon.
one day,
i’ll press warmth so deeply into her winters,
she’ll swell with dandelions and
burst
into suns.