No

By: A. Pikovsky

\/ 

it’s a  

disruption of peace, 

wilting in the whirl 

now, i’m ironing 

in the settle, 

no. 

i’m settling in the web 

 of (f)ears 

i did not \/ could not  

weave. 

it’s a  

collection of repentance 

collapsing into the purpose 

you painted for me, 

to serve for the living 

where thoughts summon 

the monster i can’t shake off me— 

looming in the stale air 

of hurt spaces 

calling it whatever 

it is not 

no. 

it’s a 

separation of scent 

i am dusted & 

\/ of maudlin earth, 

/\ of molten rock rounded in moss, 

\/ of steadied rage; 

i am— 

no. 

it’s a  

spillage of foliage 

of the fertile breast 

enclosed & chained 

pinched at the rib 

where ((( i ))) am the leaves 

falling, interlocking. 

/\ 

no. 

it’s a chase for faith 

for breath 

wading thru 

these giving, putrid tears; 

[[ W H A T ]] 

makes a man  

of you? 

when I shed 

myself 

& your hands 

Choke(d) me 

so pretty, 

stained my sense with ink 

& crumbled my throat 

like birthday cookies, 

crushed over counters 

where i rolled roses. 

Now, i’m resting in the crown, 

no— 

i’m crowning in the abyss 

where I take my flowers 

on my knees 

bearing my soul 

& pillaging my home. 

---

A. Pikovsky is a poet living in Philly who is the child of Jewish Soviet immigrants. Her work has appeared in Cathexis NorthWest Press, Passengers Press, High Shelf Press, Wild Roof Journal. Not Very Quiet, waxing & waning, among others. A. Pikovsky is a Poetry MFA Candidate at Temple University where she also works as the Director of Development for the Engineering College. She is very small but pushes to make a big impact.