After the flood

by Katy Naylor

We walk away – silent calamity
imagining blue as the final beginning
liquid beings with feet of clay:
everything a metaphor for liquor’s bourbon burn
you’d be naive to think our universe isn’t vengeful
days of rain have tried to scrape the canvas clean
my hopes are tethered to a life raft
that does not have room for me
perhaps the days are still too young for us to become drainwater,
but I finally understand
this body is not just yours darling
there will come a time when this whole thing drops
like pellets in a snow globe


(In order of appearance, this cento borrows lines from:  Shome Dasgupta (“We Walk Away Like Nothing,” Issue 14); Steve Merino (“Chickadee,” Issue 14); Elspeth Findlay (“The Flood,” Issue 12); Thad de Vassie (“Recovery,” Issue 12); Noreen Ocampo (“Flight,” Issue 14); Lucy Narva (“Sharp and Sour,” Issue 12); Kanika Ahuja (“If Life Means Life Means Life // Voluntary Apnea,” Issue 14); Elizabeth Estochen (“I Don’t Have Time for Anything These Days,” Issue 13); Madison Zehmer (“Shamayim,” Issue 14); Hanna Abi Akl (“face masks,” Issue 13))

Katy Naylor lives by the sea, in a little town on the south coats of England. She writes in the time that falls between the cracks. She has had work published in places including Selcouth Station, Zero Readers and The Bear Creek Gazette. Her chapbook, Postcards from Ragnarok (Alien Buddha, 2021) is out now. Find her online at or on twitter @voidskrawl

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