Dead Name

My nails have grown long
enough to etch my birth name
into the thick body of a yellowed candle,
I inscribe it: old dead name,
and watch as the wax falls like rain off a crumbling tower.

In the stillness of midnight, I begin again,
I have a new name,
it sings in me and when I sing
I pray twice,
so I ask the Lord
for his utmost kindness,
O, Lord, unfurl me from this body,
this flesh that hugs bone,
pull me from this body,
not as daughter,
not as son,
but as holy ghost.

Nic Alea is a queer poet with fellowship from the Lambda Literary Foundation and has work published or forthcoming in Muzzle Magazine, the Paris American, decomP, Reservoir, BOAAT, Crab Fat and others. Originally from California, they currently live in Birraranga (Melbourne, Australia).

Next Page (Welcome to Issue 8: Spring 2019)

Previous Page (Serafina Rogers)