Poetry

Witchcraft

by Lady Key

Look at you, maiden
on each fingertip, a fly!
Un animal de calle, Bordstein-
schwalbe. Look up,
how the electricity trapped in
clouds, shining on
the faces of our giants, shy
       — yellow air above four lanes.

Remove the glue from your sole!
I’ve got a recipe for you to dive
in the public sphere, my maiden
       — for identity, one
coating of dust, while
another of mask.
       For the body, one of sweat
and one of perfume, the one
that wants to get at you will
have to crawl under fingers’ layers.

I tell you to internalize
the map traced on the
bloom skin, peeled green
  — que no es infinito
because we die a cada rato, one
bit at a time, maiden.

Appeared in Issue Fall '22