the other day i awoke with a planet
growing from my left forearm.
a slow lift, heavy land—waters

rising in each gesture.
soon trees start to sprout.
branches chase my veins,

changing my blood
to sap, my body to churn
syrup. it gets harder to hold

my world on my elbow,
awash with ocean waves,
the tide rolls in every time

i open my mouth. i think
this planet is sentient. i
think i need you to see

when my planet grows big
enough to swallow this earth whole.
people will lose each other.

when you search for me, you will find
my eyes under the surface, pennies
sunk to the bottom of a fountain floor.

 

by elle chu

 

elle chu is a California native and currently resides in Boston. A recent BFA graduate from Emerson College, her work can be found in The Fjords Review, The Kindling Collective, and Fearsome Critters Arts Journal. When not meal prepping, she likes to explores life through death, and vice versa, through the imagery of music, nature, and body.

 

Appears In

Cagibi Issue 3

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