Two Poems by Iyana Sky

Iyana Sky

Iyana Sky

The poet Iyana Sky received her Bachelor of Arts in English from the University of North Texas. Currently, she lives in Columbus, Ohio, with her husband and daughter. Her work is forthcoming in Glint Literary Journal.


Maybe it's the post-slave syndrome in me,

thinking my watered-down peach skin's able

to convince you your hands belong on me

only in caress, no matter the verity I absolve. 

Yet, you do this every time I so much as

change my mind: Smile wider. Crack jokes 

to my friends that would shame a farceur.

Apologize for my attitude, say I’m not feeling  

well or the slight elevation change destabilizes  

my hormones and you know women. Discomfort  

percolates among us further than your needle lips 

grasping for earlobes, all eyes on me solemn  

with goodbye bids. In the car, your mouth pops  

and suddenly I35-N is an asphalt chunk where  

you chisel what we all know about you but  

disregard: That tornado of violence created only  

for my neck, the pent-up hot air colliding with  

cold curses, my body loosened threads. 





However wicked, I want him to nibble 

my ear, press my fingers to his puckered 

lips before telling me this life I squandered 

waiting for angels to bestow me all life's 

dew-misted answers in a cheat sheet 

crafted by wind and ocean  

was nothing but a test run of hell. When  

the rhythm and blues of my childhood,  

that sultry pleading for exoneration’s 

hole-infested wings, erupts from his chest 

I will tilt back my head while his azure 

eyes oxbow my throat, the liquid stare 

freezing a crystallized dance floor 

for his chiseling lips. 

The cracks left will feel crisp 

like a baby's first drink from her mother 

and I will feel so good 

I will forget what might come.