Bleeding Out on Cayuga Lake
you heard me but
let me try again,
in the chorus of every daffodil,
unburied hatchet and ghost,
soliloquies and declarations I meant
the first time.
I wish you could hear
the death bells toll,
chimes of kitchen plates,
snakes snagged by bare hands,
prefer the idea of me
lashed.
you hate me,
ripped holes in yellow
fat and sewn shut
loud mouthed refusal to fall
on anyone’s dagger but my own.
coliseums have changed since Rome.
wouldn’t
wouldn’t the sound
of water from the bottom of a lake
soothe something?
the sky from here is grey
bright blinding, whiter with wake foam.
we could die here
we should
Leah Skay
Leah Skay is an author from Delaware. Her work has recently appeared in BULL, 45th Parallel, The Quarter(ly), HAD, and others. She received her B.A. in Creative Writing from Ithaca College and is currently the Poetry Editor for The Bloomin’ Onion. Outside of her writing, Leah lives in Brooklyn, NY, and is a proud alumna of the Japanese Exchange and Teaching Program. You can find all of her work listed at leahskay.com