Three Poems by Gala Mukomolova

Lilith
 
Something like a woman, I believe in her ability
 
to harm me. Sentinel,
 
I give my power away. What do I know about power? Clutch
 
of snakes with synchronous hearts,
 
black ditch of my sleep. I promise you this love poem
 
where no birds appear,
 
winged messengers capable of abandoning us
 
not in cruelty—in spite of it.
 
Descending neck deep, on top
 
she covers every inch.
 
Of reflection, of waves, she touches toe first and begins
 
to see herself, terror.
 
hot clamp, hissing, O, Angel, you make me
 
hunger like
 
a mortal girl. I light the wick of a boy within me,
 
I moth my female gaze burns holes
 
in the night, I suck her
 
dick to life                  
 
You                   
 
you are the only one

who knows                                                     
what I mean                                                   
who I was
Don’t let me
 
down

 
Wheat and Wormwood by Hilma af Klint, 1922 (Public Domain) via wikimedia.org.
 

Tulip Poem
 
How come a mother
is always the same
mother in the kitchen 
weeping into dough
Seems like all daughters
are all-seeing, look,
girl-shadow, long and
leaning back
Why is it so hard
to be a person
I check my mailbox
for Xanax, I check
my mailbox for Adderall
All my friends
are angels
seeding the dark
I tulip every April, I only
need to be buried once
I don’t know
what being loved is
said my therapist
whose hair trails long
and dead behind her
An angel came
in my mouth
Don’t worry what
my hair looks like
I was a lump of dough
now I’m a tulip
and no one knows
what tulips know
but me, I see in dirt
I burst, am born, besides
my mother is just
like your mother
Yes, she is, but worse 
because she’s mine

 
 No 1., The Parsifal Series by Hilma af Klint, 1916 (Public Domain) via wikimedia.org.
 

Water | Fire

You said, let’s make something new so, in a slip and heels, I put meat on. Thick cut.

A woman lights my votives, devotion blackened on both sides.

Monstera decades old in the room where I slept for you, thicket of bad dreams.

Even that room was another girl’s room, her breath still fogging the window,

her dog’s crate empty by the bed.

The Jane, The Empire, The Royalton, the third floor of that house, mornings without

light. You packed up plainly as if at the end of a meeting. I was a girl who came into this

world fully formed, a body without waves, lake you leisured into and walked out learning

nothing.



Waiting to see the heron’s wingspan, you would not bend space and time for me again.

Feeling small feeling small. Hummingbird comes, sucks nectar where it likes.

Why should I be sweet? Broken glass is sharp. Outside, the water round rocks: hard,

corrosive with salt.

Addiction to cruelty—excuses weaken my power

I shaved my whole body in case you touched me—your beholding—I prayed for it.

In your shut eye, your open eye.


There was a time before I knew you but I’m not convinced.

Led, I pressed my cheek to every living sound your tongue draped over me.

Your fingers, god’s searchlight, over and over you cum on someone else while I light the scene.

Inside the cavern, the ring, the amphitheater, one of us helps the other die.

You wanted ruin, a ruin speaks and in speaking is beautiful.

Imagine: once walls, wells glutted. Dry with thirst (here

the girl wants to be warmed) stupid with fire

snuffed out like a wick.


Around my voice, red string I tear every time I’m fucked right. My dead walk

proud down fur processions, people the open market. Violent nothingness, my inheritance.

A cloud doesn’t exist that holds this much water. That’s why I’m alive, why I’m still here.

Living fox drags dead fox across burnt field towards heaven.

Our town disappears but roads remain roads, sun beating

asphalt so hot the air trembles.

How I wanted you: laid out

across distances. To empty

over on. To pound and

pound with rain.


 

Header Image Credit: “Birch” from the series, “On the Viewing of Flowers and Trees” by Hilma af Klint, 1922 (Public Domain) via wikimedia.org.

About the author

Gala Mukomolova is a Moscow-born, Brooklyn-raised poet and essayist. She is the author of Without Protection (Coffee House Press 2019) and the chapbook One Above One Below: Positions and Lamentations (YesYes Books 2018).  She writes articles on astrology for NYLON and is cohost of the podcast Big Dyke Energy.

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