Poetry: Selections from Glory Cumbow

Air

 

I.

Those jagged roads led to nowhere,

and they kept tripping down them

to dead ends anyway.

They already knew the carved paths

wouldn’t take them to any particular destination

but their mind was consuming itself

from the inside out,

so their judgment was cloudy at best.

 

And still

 

they found themselves returning and returning

and returning

to those streets

cornered by nothing but the same broken pathway back

the way they came,

hoping, instead, to rewrite a map into their skin

to force the roads to slash forward into the wilderness

and take them

where it’s quiet,

where their brain wasn’t screaming.

 

II.

They died.

or at least,

they thought they did.

An honest mistake to make

considering the agony of reality ending into

untethered nothingness.

 

But the shell that had been housing

their core,

their true self,

had cracked open

unleashing a new and tender being,

into the world.

 

The suffering was not a death,

but a birth.

The ache of new muscles flexing

and fresh lungs inflating

was terrifying.

 

III.

Next.

Always asking what comes next,

because something must happen next,

but answering that question felt impossible,

because their hands kept grasping

at nothing but air.

If You Did All The Right Things 

Longing for a lullaby,

knowing that even if it was sung over me,

I still couldn’t slip into sleep.

 

Desperate for someone to catch me,

knowing that I wouldn’t find relief

if stability stopped my freefall.

 

Aching to be held,

knowing my nerve endings would refuse

to acknowledge the touch.

 

Say the perfect words,

reciting the very script I wrote in my head for you;

pursue me with the affection I crave

even as I shove you away.

It won’t matter;

peace doesn’t know me.

The Pit in My Stomach 

She was a smile.

She was a doorway to discoveries

that I didn’t know I needed.

 

She picked up a book

and read words

she thought might heal me,

and I knew I was in trouble

when my heart skipped at her voice.

 

I’ll remain changed.

 

But today she’s my stomach ache.

She’s the weight on my chest,

and my ribs crack.

Glory Cumbow (she/they) is a writer living in North Carolina. They work as a strategist helping other writers to get their work published. They are dedicated to the arts and work with local theatres and sing in their community choir. When they’re not writing, they enjoy traveling, catching live shows, visiting art museums, and volunteering with Charlotte LGBTQ+ Pride.