The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: J. Gay’s “Decomposition”

J. Gay

vii.

It is the noise that boundaries my infinity. My inevitable
crumble and decay.

Keep it.

My space must be less than infinite. Inside my body there
must be quantifiable galaxies. The darkness and depth
tempered. A multiverse of “yets” and “howevers” and
“considerings”.
I wonder, though. I wonder if I were to spread open my
chest, would gaseous columns emerge from my cavity?
Would the stars inside my brain loosen and crash into my
exposed womb? Am I the potential of dead space?

Things echo. Howls, explosions. The ghosts of sound
promise me, not with whispers, but with matter. With the
approaching ascent. The hot promise of sweat behind knees,
of calloused feet and toes.

I reach out and find.

 

This selection is from J. Gay’s book Decomposition, available from dancing girl press! Purchase your copy here!

J. Gay was born and raised in Louisiana. She received her Bachelor’s from the College of Santa Fe and her Master’s from Stonecoast. She lives in New Mexico with her husband and son. Decomposition is her first chapbook. Her website is jgaywriting.com.

Darren C. Demaree is the author of three poetry collections, As We Refer to Our Bodies (2013, 8th House), Temporary Champions (2014, Main Street Rag), and Not For Art For Prayer (2015, 8th House). He is the recipient of three Pushcart Prize nominations and a Best of the Net nomination. He is also a founding editor of Ovenbird Poetry and AltOhio. He is currently living in Columbus, Ohio with his wife and children.

The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: J. Gay’s “Decomposition”

decomposition

v.

But always at the edges, the pulse of persistent spacetime.

It is the constant effortless nature of white noise. The throb a
wave. The beach of my heart. A shell to the ear magnifies the
sound of blood pumping. Each vein houses a beach with a
just less than infinite night sky and the release of panic.
Crashing of blood against the shore. A body filled with
white noise. Crashing of blood against the shore. Crashing of
a body filled to a decimal place short of infinite. Releasing
panic is the constant effortless nature that lulls one to sleep.
Hush and swish and swing–

The invisible slit spreads its legs. Fill it with sand. Kill it. Keep it.

This selection is from J. Gay’s book Decomposition, available from dancing girl press! Purchase your copy here!

J. Gay was born and raised in Louisiana. She received her Bachelor’s from the College of Santa Fe and her Master’s from Stonecoast. She lives in New Mexico with her husband and son. Decomposition is her first chapbook. Her website is jgaywriting.com.

Darren C. Demaree is the author of three poetry collections, As We Refer to Our Bodies (2013, 8th House), Temporary Champions (2014, Main Street Rag), and Not For Art For Prayer (2015, 8th House). He is the recipient of three Pushcart Prize nominations and a Best of the Net nomination. He is also a founding editor of Ovenbird Poetry and AltOhio. He is currently living in Columbus, Ohio with his wife and children.

The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: J. Gay’s “Decomposition”

J. Gay

Restless

This is not an easy space.
(No, it is too early for that.)
The dread of nipples brushing against a thin cotton shirt.
The disgust of sweaty, abjected breasts.

A scrub jay stalks around on the porch,
waiting snatch up the wriggling barn swallow chicks
into its screeing beak.

&

And. And.
I am tired of additions. I am tired of addendums.
And. And. And.
(Do not say “my”. Instead, scree like a bird.)
Hot air building in a throat,
drying out the wet sanctuary of the mouth.
Nothing ever grows here but dust storms.
Howling waste.

And
I like to say I don’t have the time when really
I don’t have the energy.

&

And it is the father who got it right the third time.
The mother who didn’t get what she planned.

&

There are no chicks to consume.
They’ve never been laid. They will never hatch.

 

This selection is from J. Gay’s book Decomposition, available from dancing girl press! Purchase your copy here!

J. Gay was born and raised in Louisiana. She received her Bachelor’s from the College of Santa Fe and her Master’s from Stonecoast. She lives in New Mexico with her husband and son. Decomposition is her first chapbook. Her website is jgaywriting.com.

Darren C. Demaree is the author of three poetry collections, As We Refer to Our Bodies (2013, 8th House), Temporary Champions (2014, Main Street Rag), and Not For Art For Prayer (2015, 8th House). He is the recipient of three Pushcart Prize nominations and a Best of the Net nomination. He is also a founding editor of Ovenbird Poetry and AltOhio. He is currently living in Columbus, Ohio with his wife and children.

The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: J. Gay’s “Decomposition”

decomposition

iii.

Space is not a vacuum in that
it is not a mechanism used for sucking unwanted bits from
surfaces but it is a vacuum in that it is:
without matter.
the void remaining once something integral has departed.
removed from the context which makes it whole.

It is when something is made isolated. Starting to speak,
wetting the tack of my palette, I feel the frozen void pulling
me inside out.

I am filled with space. Sound sucked–

gone.

The silence of a body about to implode.

This selection is from J. Gay’s book Decomposition, available from dancing girl press! Purchase your copy here!

J. Gay was born and raised in Louisiana. She received her Bachelor’s from the College of Santa Fe and her Master’s from Stonecoast. She lives in New Mexico with her husband and son. Decomposition is her first chapbook. Her website is jgaywriting.com.

Darren C. Demaree is the author of three poetry collections, As We Refer to Our Bodies (2013, 8th House), Temporary Champions (2014, Main Street Rag), and Not For Art For Prayer (2015, 8th House). He is the recipient of three Pushcart Prize nominations and a Best of the Net nomination. He is also a founding editor of Ovenbird Poetry and AltOhio. He is currently living in Columbus, Ohio with his wife and children.

The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: J. Gay’s “Decomposition”

J. Gay

Chemical Fire

A hazy morning as smoke oozes across the sky. I miss the
white light of the desert. The light here is yellow. It is thick
and shoves itself into my mouth like a gag. Today, the
asphalt will be so hot that you will break eggs on the curb
while nursing a forty. I will wear a dress and no underwear.
The sweat will gather around our jointed skin, making us
glistening and unbearable.

*

There is a chemical fire burning in New Iberia. Businesses
have been evacuated within a five-mile radius.

*

At night, you count the holes in the ceiling. Sometimes, you
have waking nightmares about spiders. You scream at the
moon for birthing them. I pretend to sleep. I wait for you to
wear yourself out like a two-year old. You turn off the a/c
and open a window. You count by threes. 3, 6, 9… 12, 15,
18… 21, 24, 27… 30, 33, 36… The grinding, the grinding, the
grinding of the brain.

*

The cause of the fire is unknown. It is fueled by asphaltene
treatment products, biocides, and corrosion inhibitors.

*

Together, we drink a bottle of wine. You say I make you
lonely. Outside, the hum of cicadas aches its way to
crescendo, a siren. The trees are heavy with sound. I tell you
my womb is a thrumming web. You open the slider and
throw the empty wine bottle into the street. The glass glitters
in the light of oncoming high-beams.

*

An information officer for the State Troopers stated, “Well,
we just gotta let it burn itself out.”

This selection is from J. Gay’s book Decomposition, available from dancing girl press! Purchase your copy here!

J. Gay was born and raised in Louisiana. She received her Bachelor’s from the College of Santa Fe and her Master’s from Stonecoast. She lives in New Mexico with her husband and son. Decomposition is her first chapbook. Her website is jgaywriting.com.

Darren C. Demaree is the author of three poetry collections, As We Refer to Our Bodies (2013, 8th House), Temporary Champions (2014, Main Street Rag), and Not For Art For Prayer (2015, 8th House). He is the recipient of three Pushcart Prize nominations and a Best of the Net nomination. He is also a founding editor of Ovenbird Poetry and AltOhio. He is currently living in Columbus, Ohio with his wife and children.