hush of pink dusk settles on everything
powders rooftops, streetlamps, cars, concrete.
my torso from the skylight is a thumb-print
in dust. glint of a far-off plane is splintered glass
tracing east to west, along the fabric of the sky
catching on loose thread, teasing open a thin
white slit behind it. this is not a wound
nothing like the white of fat before blood in a cut
+ laughter is curious doesn’t pinch? i think this is
bliss? my mind’s made up + nothing hurts
‘cause i’m not really here
going to slip off like a card through a letter box
maybe i’ll grab on to this rising moon
Art by Naiara Zalbidea
Naiara Zalbidea is an illustrator from Basque Country, who spends her free time working on her passion: illustrating. One day she hopes to work on it full time, to show everyone the universe she sees in all the little things around the world.
Day Mattar: Queer merperson, on land completing a Creative Writing MA at Manchester Met University. Can be found performing poetry, starkers, in Liverpool’s Queer Cabaret, Eat Me. Hopes to reincarnate as a humpback whale. Published in The Rialto, Tilt, The Tangerine, Lambda Literary, RFD. Bronze award in the Creative Future Literary Awards 2017. Shortlisted in the Cafe Writers Competition and the Magma Poetry Competition. Insta: @daymattarpoetry // Twitter: @daymattar