Blight

by Alex Braslavsky

……………………………………………………..In preparation
for the event, the digi-ography says the butterfly
skirt goes well with the black lily sweater. I’m sure
the apple core would agree, its hollow yawn
oceanic as it’s eaten. Youth is relative.
Using their khipu, the Inca
planned to hollow
each apple. …………………………………….The font
has transmogrified the ellipsis into “mimimi” —
one sad specimen of a man. Before long,
language would no longer be tactile,
the faun stranded between isles
of concrete, dogs shaking
down the mountain.
Rods and cones. ……………………………..The Vermont
firefighter trying to pull us out, his tires now
also trapped. My sweater smells of cat
piss. We spend the next evening,
after the “extraction,”
cleaning. …………………………… ………….a bathroom
that five people have been defecating in for eight
months. And a Briton walking by cries,
“And now I’m gonna eat pizza!”
And choke on your own
spit and then cough
on it then spill
hot tea…………………………………….……..on your knee
and swallow your gray hair and traipsing about
the universe I have been calm. Knowing that
my life has been divided into periods
when I still do not have to use
the catheter and when I do,
when the car gets towed,
when the car won’t
start...……………………………..……………..At least

the stars shake off their own dust and cats
cleanse their own buttholes. We wring
the banana peel ad nauseam.
The hazing ritual involves
a piece of chalk,
plus……………………………………….………..listening
to a playlist called Super Focus Flow…What if
eggs could be baked blue. You roast
apple’s skin for the boar’s maw.
I watch you broil forward
the contaminants.
A land given
time with ………………………………………..its tree
rings, ice, dish face, pencil shavings, dining
room table with dice scattered as wedding
favors. Dark woods reflect & I know
you are mimicking my face,
licking thunder and I try
very hard to be good...………………………Your sunflower
held back its hand. Scum
in the back of the john. Grime
in the back of the john, & mildew,
………………………………………………….……Mildred.

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Alex Braslavsky is a poet, translator, and scholar. She is a doctoral candidate in the Slavic Department at Harvard University, where she is writing about the connection between aging and artmaking. Her translation of On Centaurs & Other Poems by Zuzanna Ginczanka was shortlisted for the American Literary Translators’ Association First Translation Prize. Her poems appear and are forthcoming in Rhino, Conjunctions, and Colorado Review, among other journals. Her first chapbook, Pinkyard, will be released with Big Table Press in October 2025.