UNHOLY CITY OF ANGLES
rectangle eyes stare: their dilated
fluorescent pupils stacked
like shelves; black lines like skinny
arms stretch from pole to pole, shuttling
electricity, crisscrossing woolly
smog & cotton clouds. around the corner,
purple petals surprise like new hair
color on an old friend; palm tree
silhouettes wave to you or
the sun, you are not sure. the duplicity
of the city serenades. you want
to leave, dip toes
in silt or snow or sand away
from girders like skeletons, ushering
rent hikes, welcoming money
to high-rise, high-end condos, swilling
these streets dry. but you
don’t leave, swirling in circles
like a lone hawk, clinging
to verdant hills & chubby squirrels.
mesmerized, glued to neon signs,
city of angles has you hypnotized.
WE FIND HOMES
behind the bronze three-dimensional ‘N’
mounted on the side of the school, a sparrow
nests, ducking under & disappearing. don’t we
find homes where we can? a place, where
we feel safe from predators. we find
homes in the cracks of our egos where
we pretend we can escape
the demons flitting
under our skin. the demons come anyway,
urging us to bathe in a tub
of tequila & a pool of painkillers. the demons
— a haze of splinters suckling
our pores. we try hard to be perfect, thinking
someone will love us if we
never make a mistake, if we ignore
the pain of branches growing
in our flesh. we try hard
to be perfect, thinking
we can love ourselves if we never
leave the crevice we call home. we’re praying
for rain to exorcise the demons, provide
salvation, where our clipped wings don’t learn
how to fly from fermented agave. we find
homes where we can in the cracks
of our egos. the demons come anyway,
looking for our baby birds. we’ve tucked
them away, thinking they’re safe. we
find homes where we can, but
sometimes home
is where the predators hide, sometimes
the demons stare back from the mirror,
sometimes we must abandon the idea
of home & build a nest out in the open.
Karo Ska (she/they) is a South Asian & Eastern European non-binary femme poet, living on occupied Tongva Land (aka Los Angeles). They migrated here in 1996 from Warsaw, Poland. Anti-capitalist & anti-authoritarian, they find joy where they can. Some of their other work appears in Dryland Lit, Resurrection Magazine, the Intercultural Press, Marías at Sampaguitas, and Ayaskala Magazine. Their first chapbook, gathering grandmothers’ bones was released on February 29th, 2020. For updates, follow them on instagram @karoo_skaa or check out their website karoska.com.