by Katy Naylor
For weeks, something has been sprouting in me
this chasm of dislocated seasons
lit by moonbeam heralded
gardenia, blood, the white sea
eyes thrown open like dug-up pits
chiseled teeth clenched and feral
I would ask my mother what was inside
and she would always say the madness of man
I might be a black hole, someday
There is no way to accurately measure the distance between you and now
I’ve long since spat out the taste of your debris
a once-safe road too fast for thought
The sun is in my eyes:
I have become who I am
a new kind of being that doesn’t recognize the old powers
a square of light eats me whole
(In order of appearance, this cento borrows lines from: Lily Klinek (“Microscopy,” Issue 15); Alan Kissane (“Roots,” Issue 16); Hannah Cole Olsag (“A Good Kind of Soon, My Son,” Issue 16); Savannah Jensen (“small thoughts on the sea,” Issue 16); Nishtha Tripathi (“The Five Elements”, Issue 15); Ashley Sapp (“Don’t Pick the Flowers,” Issue 15); Stuart Buck (“tofu,” Issue 15); Deanna Baringer (“Carefully Taught,” Issue 17); Megan Canella (“Between You and Now,” Issue 17); Kylie Martin (“I’ve Clawed my Way Back Up to the Surface of the Earth,” Issue 15); Gretchen Rockwell (“Dead Animals and Other things I Avoid Thinking About,” Issue 15); MA|DE (“Elbow to Neck,” Issue 15); Anna Press (“Clawing Up the Incline,” Issue 17); Christopher W Clark (“Close(s)t,” Issue 16))
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 voidscrawl.co.uk or on twitter @voidskrawl
Emerge Literary Journal 