Apocalyptic Luck
Some of us will be relieved when the world ends,
no more bones to shine.
When we see a comet dashing towards earth,
we’ll cheer, think finally—
not because there’s an afterlife waiting
for us
but because we’re exhausted scratching at our scarred
etchings
day after day, tiny pluckings at the skin
until we’re raw,
red at the helm of our flesh a hacked-on reminder
that there’s
luck in an ending invoked, when we tell an apocalypse:
come, do
your fiery blaze
baddest,
ease our yoke with a shower of cosmic
roses.
That’s what people like me call
triumph.
Invocation
Some people
leap or slice
to start over
I know too well
this urge
but also know
I’ll just be sent back
unglued
Despite
constant tinkering
synapses don’t mend
so in short-lasting light
I conjure up
a litany for Lucid
praise Your steady
guide my hands
guide my feet
guide my tongue
And this is how
witchcraft began
stealing back
a sober mind
through fiery prayer
but not to their god
Newark, NJ-based Ysabel Y. Gonzalez received her BA from Rutgers University, and an MFA in Poetry from Drew University. Ysabel has received invitations to attend VONA, Tin House, Ashbery Home School, and BOAAT Press workshops. She’s a CantoMundo Fellow, and has been published in the Paterson Literary Review, Tinderbox Journal, Anomaly, Vinyl, It was Written: Poetry Inspired by Hip-Hop, Wide Shore, Waxwing Literary Journal, and others. You can read more about her work, at ysabelgonzalez.com.