Poetry by jacklyn janeksela
the coffin is a waste of money, don’t you get it
burn me all the way back to ancestry, the follicles of a hair connected
to a haunting, a memory had and never had, a candle wick
the pit of a fire that comes from between my legs will do just fine
smoke the hell out of the meat, lungful the fumes, get high
if a fingernail remains, preserve it in a bottle of oil with a spot of amber
gift it to a museum, call it art
do not fit me for a coffin because i won’t fit
just trust me, i won’t
burn me all the way back to ancestry, the follicles of a hair connected
to a haunting, a memory had and never had, a candle wick
the pit of a fire that comes from between my legs will do just fine
smoke the hell out of the meat, lungful the fumes, get high
if a fingernail remains, preserve it in a bottle of oil with a spot of amber
gift it to a museum, call it art
do not fit me for a coffin because i won’t fit
just trust me, i won’t
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jacklyn janeksela is a wolf and a raven, a cluster of stars, & a direct descent of the divine feminine. she can be found; & elsewhere. she is in a post-punk band called the velblouds. her baby @ femalefilet. her chapbook fitting a witch//hexing the stitch (The Operating System, 2017). she is an energy. find her @ hermetic hare for herbal astrology readings.
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