The other of
the other
is the sky and
its sphere
of longing.
Kolaptō grew in
reverse,
roamed
dung-billed instead
of
bildungsromaned,
raised in a
house
with all its
mirrors pointed inward
to reflect only
their dark walls.
At the funeral,
he birthed his father
through the
vaginal coffin.
"Look at
this baby," he cooed
and crowned him
with a garland
of used
condoms, beautiful
with their
sheen of trapped light.
"Send my
regards,"
Kolaptō said
and put the
baby
back in the
box.
Mike Bagwell is a form of mutual antagonism towards the sky. He received an MFA from Sarah Lawrence, and his work appears in Poetry Northwest, Action Spectacle, The Texas Review, ITERANT, Sprung Formal, Afternoon Visitor, HAD, Tyger Quarterly, Annulet, and others. Recent chapbooks include Poem of Thanks: A Court of Wands (Metatron 2025), A Collision of Soul in Midair (Bottlecap), and micros from Ghost City and Rinky Dink. He runs the Ghost Harmonics reading series in Philly. Find him at mikebagwell.me, @low_gh0st, or playing dragons with his daughters.
the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan
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