about the author

Sachi Terry is a Pasadena native in the process of obtaining a degree in English Literature and Modern Languages. Her most notable work is editing the 2013 issue of the college literary magazine, Inscape.

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Two Poems 

Sachi Terry

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It was all in your mouth
how it demolished the shape
of mine
swallowed my speech
seeped in there
something foreign, an infection
permanent ink swimming in my bloodstream
all of my insides, minted out, mined
into your stipend

to give up a heart
to you now
when the last seven
were sent out like stamps
on envelopes with a lost billing address
—no residency

you’ve already ruined the natural
flex in my lungs
smashed the rhythm there
made it into something choppy
and unpredictable in your presence

I used to be
a box of articles:
crystal doorknobs, scraps of paper,
bent nails, tubes of sealed paint, wishbones
all without function, but dipped in
Picasso’s fingerprint
(and I made sense that way)
This, you’ve picked off for nesting

Monopolized them all
turned them into playing pieces
orchestrated them
to emit from me
whole notes, lovely whole notes
from an unstitched pulse
you’ll have to take

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Be in the place I find sleep
Where I dig graves for dreams
Fasten your fingers around the thing beside you
Until you find comfort, rest your head
Upon the welcome mat
Through heavy lids and aching parts
You’ll brush over the barest truth, as if you were yawning:
“Don’t you know you are my only haven?”
You can claim me
Uncover me, please
Engrave your own signature
Inside of inky caves that aspire to sunlight
A woman’s lilted head
Folding backwards slowly,
Revealing a bare-necked canvas
Peeling outward, expelling rigorously
I am petals injected with the sense
Of your touching
You can claim me
Uncover me, please
We can take the shattering fall here
With shame, some distant rumor
“Don’t you know you are my only haven?”

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