Features

I want to reside in a hole,

but not just any hole.

I want the hole to be so deep that it ends at the center of the Earth

where the temperature is scorching.

I want the heat of the Earth’s core to make

my skin blister,

my flesh bubble,

and my eyeballs melt out of their sockets and turn into putrid goo.

But in a way in which I feel safe,

because all I want is to be safe, warm, and alone.

I want to be a pile of embers enclosed inside a planet.

But also I want to stand,

and breathe,

and have the snow that flurries from the sky make me feel light and woozy.

I want my hands to go so numb that they’re purplish blue and close to exploding.

Then I want a warm body to tightly embrace my icy rigid body until I cannot breathe.

I’ll engrave this moment in my mind so that when my future kid asks what love is like I’ll be able to tell them.

Having a child one day seems nice,

but getting a hysterectomy seems even nicer.

Remove my uterus

and remove my amygdala

so that I’ll be an unbearing,

unfeeling

lump of meat with a heartbeat.

I love you

and I appreciate you.

Thank you for being soft,

yet rough around the edges.

But if you keep me company for one more moment I will drown myself in a pool of molasses and be engulfed in its sweet viscosity until I am still and elated.

The foundation of my body is built on affection and solitude,

and it is exhausting.

But the cosmic tango will continue until the phoenix turns to ash and everything is marigold.

Imani Andwele is a freshman Photography & Video major at the School of Visual Arts. Imani likes writing (of course), pad see ew, Russian Doll, Arctic Monkeys and John Mulaney. Imani’s poem, “Burj Khalifa,” is also published in this issue.