me, stochastic and riverine—
a watershed body. beavers build
temporary dams inside my large
intestine. I am no agent. I am
only acted upon. sometimes ecologists
pry apart my arteries with latex hands,
inspect my perpetual motion blood
machine. inside brackish waters new
species bloom—a microbiome of
fauna in my blossoming gut. I am
a transgression in the shape of an
ongoing flood. my river mouth does
not ask for forgiveness when the levees
 Phenomena that cannot be predicted by existing knowledge.
my torso, in all its divine incarnations
all quiet on this chest turned front.
here fleshy, there taut. curves and
their meanings not born but taught.
arms raised above my head flattens
my breast to an androgynous ovoid
crest. my jaw, if turned at a point
under the right light, could be
a knife-edge and not just a keeper
of bones. the circumference of his
hands can fit around my meridian
waist. here, rounded. there, hard.
I am a blouse turned inside out,
raised edges along the seams
a revolt in so many words.
they teach you to draw women
with circles and men with squares.
draw me with a shape we’ve yet
to name. my body is prelapsarian,
blushing fruit left unplucked.
there are no names here, no adam
to category and classify. this
body is leviathan, yawning with
rows of waiting teeth.
did you know that half of you
is made of alien microbes, sister-
sons of the big bang immortal. wade
into my tidepool as coral gnaws at
the sides. I am sentiment and
sediment and psychosis in a gut.
I am a fraction of a limitless whole.
with you, I am just as small but
somehow take up the entire room.
I spin just for an instant then fall still. press play and
cue a timelapse study of the notorious night-blooming rose.
the entire time I unfold I’m thinking of
the wilting that will come later.
fanning outward, facing the invisible sun.
I’m beckoning for a witness.
I’ve heard there’s a chance I’ll reappear next season but
what is a probability if not a halfway lie?
they’ll say the poor thing couldn’t even bear fruit. they’ll pull my postmortem petals and ask who loved and who not.
I am bursting into my full wingspan while the gods shake their heads. this overgrown body begins to eat itself head to tail. my vessel was not meant to hold so tight. I understand the price and the circle but it still hurts. it hurts.
but did you see me there, for just an instant, birthing myself out of nothing, blooming then dying so soon but never not not. I swear to you, I was there the whole time.
My name is Mya Alexice. I cherish the opportunity to have you all read my poetry. I’m a current MFA student at Rutgers-Newark, a writer at Book Riot, and a reviewer at Kirkus. My poems can be found in several publications such as The Raven’s Perch, Quarto, The Legendary, 4×4, Echoes, and more.