kyrah gomes
she has been saying goodbye to everything.
green tea at dusk. news of b-52 bombers
flying in one ear, out the other, always
t-minus twenty minutes to doomsday.
the chipped spot where someone threw a
vase & a temper tantrum last easter.
the imprinted image of refrigerated
trucks & lifeless bodies in brooklyn.
the poem about breakfast in a burnt house
except there is no breakfast & there is
no house. how tenderly you trace the
cereal box maze, loving an easy challenge.
the living room & all of its comorbidities:
skin the calloused bark of a cinnamon stick,
flinches of peeling paint. walls of asbestos,
watercolors fading in direct disobedience.
she will no longer use the first person.
she opens her mouth & only violins
spill out. isn’t it beautiful? how hanging
the moon can have so many meanings.
how we can measure the length of our cuts,
laugh in razor-edged exclamation points.
how yellow-bricked margarine still spreads
on the blistered facades of export sodas.
how quickly fruit rots with nowhere to rest.
how weight is trapped in the very vowels
of translation — a carrying of burdens
across time, countries, oceans. loyalty,
or submission. I is too selfish to swallow
upright, always keeping the jaw unhinged.
i is an island of relief in a sea of bluebirds,
or vultures, all singing beautifully, despite.
kyrah gomes
kyrah gomes (she/her) is a multidimensional artist and fresh fruit aficionado from nyc, currently in tampa, fl. she writes to create something tangible and is as much of a poet as any other human being. her poems have appeared in Thread Magazine, VIBE, The B’K, LEVITATE, Journal of Erato, and other publications. you can send her comments, hate mail, or your favorite playlists on instagram @kyrah.isabel, twitter @reveri3s, or via her website kyrahgomes.square.site.