poetry by christ keivom

The Genius of Anne Sexton

Suicide begins in my stomach like hunger   This permanent picking at wound—  Goes upwards spreading like cotton in my throat. 

(When I sleep, death crawls out of my mouth like a spider)

Then, I claw a hole in my mind  Wake up to the sun   Stick my tongue out at the window—

As it dries out like a scab,  Spools and unspools and falls   Leaving behind a pale shadow   That has almost eyes, almost black hair,

Almost hands reaching out to sun:  Live again, I say   Live again. 

Afterword

When the nights sprawled on and buried the sun. It was as though a young person died unseasonably. We must have been people  With a three day wish and two days to live We must have been alone— In graveyards and cities where  No one knew our names. On some other world that’s so far Up or down there  Where the elevator stops just once  The music did play and ended  (like a life someone formerly had) And life was always this glowing exit sign  At a show that went on So long as we were in it.  And what wouldn’t we want death to know about us? Tonight, it beckons to us with a searchlight  Clearing the darkness;  From within the great dream of the night  How we sleep into it— How like animals, in the end we walk toward  Whatever calls our name. 

Christ Keivom is an undergraduate literary student at Delhi University. You can reach out to him on Instagram @passmethecigarettes.