You were a lighthouse like Antigone. Coins pressed soft on each of her brothers’ eyelids. Protecting baby-boy from the bloody shock of his own bones. Like medusa burying a snake from her head, you wrapped him like an umbilical chord. To bury in the dirt, or under the sink in that Hells’ kitchen playground cemetery. I learned to bake cakes in the dark. I was terrified of suicide gods and their babies. Scared I would sit inside their mouths and let them swallow me. Rebel-rebel, looking for a mom. I got a carnival ticket to the womb, to the bottom of the sea. Found an angel to haunt me sweetly. A potbellied unicorn headed, old New York-Italian basketball coach. He would criticize my shots from the benches.
Bekah Fly is a poet, visual artist and musician originally from NYC. She is a surrealist who is influenced by graffiti and blues. She has been published in Spoon River Anthology and Saul Williams’ “A literary mixtape” She performed music and poetry at The Brooklyn Museum, Joes Pub, Museo Del Barrio, the Nuyorican Poets cafe and in the New York City subway. Her work is also deeply affected by a decade of battling chronic illness as well as living outside in the Mohave Desert for a period due to mold poisoning. She is synesthetic, sees sound as color and is studying lucid dreaming.