peace: imparting lenses for the girl who’s decomposed -- / made a homeland where nomads laid their flags in my sunset vertebrae, declared my spine a ghost blaze while laying their red robes to hide my wounds; they folded their hands and mouths in a skin graft prayer, prayed for the genesis, a new world to form where there once was woman; stones tumble from solitary fields to build me legs, a pelvis, arms, and finally, a skull. A brain is made of mud and leaves, before the drifters go. the hunters rip my hide, for sport and for pelt, knock out teeth, rip hair to waves. they stay for the night. only for the night. morning comes and it is just me; my terrains, my colonies, my Frankenstein woes; climb up my imbalanced peak / -- leave a little prayer on my compass rose.
About the Author:
Anastasia Jill (she/they) is a queer writer living in the Southeast United States. She has been nominated for Best American Short Stories, Best of the Net, and several other honors. Her work has been featured with Poets.org, Pithead Chapel, apt, Minola Review, Broken Pencil, and more.
*Featured image by Walt Ward