renée kay: my brain as supernova

Photo: Joanna C. Valente

my brain as supernova

if i start at the end

it will be more beautiful

here    i am confetti

across the night sky

un-press from your palms

the thin skin binding your eyes

multiply the light by the soft pink

of cotton candy in a child’s hand

the emerald of dew soaked grass

as the sun contemplates rising

the amethyst of my nana’s chair

brilliant & beaten from use

when i was a star i bathed

in the sound of a question

i couldn’t answer until

the skin pulled from bone

every piece in opposition

until gravity collapsed us all

i mean how do you do it

            live with yourself

nothing except gravity

have you seen how the black

hole swallows the light

i mean have you ever wanted something

& pulled it towards you

i don’t mean with your hands

i am thinking of the sidewalk

how in its pure & simple loneliness

it pulled a car onto its back

or of the windshield longing

for a cheek against its open palm

how the couple inside once

sat on a mustard sofa

until their hands touched   despite

the white linen pillows & space

now i am thinking again of myself

& everything i have pulled in

how many hands have i conjured

to fill the emptiness of my skin

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renée kay (they/them) is a queer poet in new york city by way of north carolina and many other beautiful and strange places. their work seeks to understand the intersection of trauma, memory, and mental health. they work at Brooklyn Poets. https://www.reneekay.com/