the beetle
all broken and yellow as
antique things tend to be
there is beauty in oxidation, in
the elements eating through metal
like larvae through leaf
the smell of rot—I burrow my face in
like the dust and mildew of
my childhood bed, like my
father’s bulging stomach
finger the sheath of snakeskin,
foreboding, it falls apart like autumn
like me, key worn around her throat,
aphids nesting in the ignition
she awaits cremation,
disassemble, dismember
yellow as mortuary skin, cold as
frozen meat beneath mourning lips
then star matter then decay
then dream turned mausoleum
in a junkyard
summer stain
wild strawberry crushed
on calloused heels, I look
like I’ve been walking
through broken glass
summer is dried blood
or maybe cherry popsicle melt
finding the softest dirt to
blacken my feet with, finding
the overgrown places where
animals go to die—
follow the hollow smell
of rot
summer is playing possum and
waiting for the vultures,
cicada white noise drowning
out the ghosts
each time I sweat through my
ratty wool blanket hair
I feel baptized, each time
the humidity is an arm around my throat
I bare my teeth in a smile—
summer is a blackberry crushed
in my palm, I’m stained
violet as twilight
down the shore
lick my lips and taste salt
as if I was just in tears
the air’s always stirring here
restless as my lover
I tell him if he looks at
another woman, I’ll
drown myself in the sea
then I laugh so he’ll laugh too
About Rebecca Kokitus
Rebecca Kokitus is a poet residing in the Philadelphia area. She is a student at West Chester University of Pennsylvania, where she studies English with a concentration in Writing. Her work has been published and is forthcoming in over a dozen literary journals. Some of her most recent publications include poems in Mookychick Magazine, SOFT CARTEL, and Lonesome October Lit. You can find her on Twitter and Instagram at @rxbxcca_anna, and you can read more of her writing on her website: https://rebeccakokitus.wixsite.com/rebeccakokitus.