Kenoza
︎︎︎ Sofia Bagdade
︎ Aug 28, 2026
Upstate the frost turns
your face to veil,
tiny holes to press
my mouth to,
wallpaper of dark-
eyed Juncos.
You ask how
I survived the dead
quiet up here: no wing
flapping, antlions frozen
in furrows. The bath
overflows, and the towels
firm like bodies in sheets.
Hot and dizzy, we stay
until the wax spreads
its noxious whispers
across the nightstand.
I dream of a ladder
stretched above milkweed,
cut down to prevent
the flies from growing sick.
In the tub we pretend
our hands are soaring insects
who find each other mid-
migration. Whether it was
the peach weed or
your slicked-shoulder,
I wanted
a silver dollar
pancake with powder,
a night with no consequence.
I say this place is kenosis,
the fields empty and porcelain,
sound of half-split pines.
Even Jacob saw rungs
and rose with the promise
of land, relinquished
stone pillow,
your body in suds.
Inside the night,
cattle cars whistling,
bells tied to necks.
your face to veil,
tiny holes to press
my mouth to,
wallpaper of dark-
eyed Juncos.
You ask how
I survived the dead
quiet up here: no wing
flapping, antlions frozen
in furrows. The bath
overflows, and the towels
firm like bodies in sheets.
Hot and dizzy, we stay
until the wax spreads
its noxious whispers
across the nightstand.
I dream of a ladder
stretched above milkweed,
cut down to prevent
the flies from growing sick.
In the tub we pretend
our hands are soaring insects
who find each other mid-
migration. Whether it was
the peach weed or
your slicked-shoulder,
I wanted
a silver dollar
pancake with powder,
a night with no consequence.
I say this place is kenosis,
the fields empty and porcelain,
sound of half-split pines.
Even Jacob saw rungs
and rose with the promise
of land, relinquished
stone pillow,
your body in suds.
Inside the night,
cattle cars whistling,
bells tied to necks.