Taking the Auspices
The mouth is a door the tongue
keys open. The tongue,
a fire. It defilith the whole
body. As a girl I uncovered
wonders, dragged whole bodies from swamps
and braided their hair. Sucked blackberry
thorns for red milk. Even now, the pinked orchid
of my thighs. The blade
of hair in my teeth. And my father, toiling
under the hot mouth of the sun,
raking the scarifying blade through thatch
to pull air into the hardened earth.
The thinnest skin
on the human body: the eyelids,
then the scant webbing between thumb
and forefinger. It seems hardly enough.
I spent high school with my jaw
wrenched shut with wire. Now,
I gape freely, shovel it with napalm
and phosphorus, drench my meals in gasoline.
What to do with those years?
The burned-out place in my mouth,
the wounds I wouldn't stop touching.
My mother wrapped my knees in gauze
and I went in search of leeches.
It was the black bile
that was making me sick. And maybe
a sparrow is not an omen. But
when they die at my feet
I can't help myself;
it's tragedy all over again.
I admit, I've been taking
the auspices from my bedroom
window. I've been refusing
company, relishing each fresh bed sore
with glee. In my stupor,
the doctor handed me my molars in a bag,
leaned in to whisper in my ear.
Here, saltwater
for your bleeding,
here, a jar for to spit.
Self Portrait with Antlers and Craving
Once I loved a man and I wanted
to eat his skin. I didn’t know
there was a better way. The gutted buck
on the highway, worth
three does. I was in my undershirt,
smoking in bed. I ate Tylenol and took down
all my mirrors. I grew hungry and thought
I was going through withdrawal. Once I licked
the puddle a man’s boot
left behind in the mud. Imagined his flank
sweat-seethed like a driving horse, the fleck
of foam at his panting mouth. I wanted
to be hoof. Couldn’t even bring myself
to kill him, but I wanted
to be inside him, his tongue
hitting my teeth when I spoke
and making little speeches. Everybody
would see me then. I wanted
to braid his hair, knife
bits of plum into his mouth.
There is a long list of impossible things like this.
I put the mirrors back on the walls again, play
girlhood, stick a finger
in my mouth. And I love this game, how close
it gets me. Later, I’ll play harm, lay
on the sides of roads with a pair of
silicone antlers strapped to my head.
I want someone
to see me dead and see me.
About the Author
Summer Barnett is a creative writing student at Western Washington University in Bellingham, Washington, where she has studied poetry with Bruce Beasely and Cori Winrock. She works as the poetry editor for Western's student literary magazine, Jeopardy.
About the Artist
Kaelah Serrano is a Chicago based photographer. She is currently a junior at Columbia College Chicago and is pursuing her Bachelors of Arts (BA) in photojournalism and will be receiving it in May of 2025. Kaelah currently works as Director of Photography for The Columbia Chronicle. She grew up on the Southside of Chicago and consistently highlights or revisits themes of culture and identity throughout her work.
Serrano’s work is available at The Columbia Chronicle found at columbiachronicle.com, where she works as a photojournalist by photographing and writing her own articles. Her work is also on her photography instagram @stargvzingg; where she posts concert coverage, protests, events, and personal projects, along with her favored work of old-school style portraits.
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