Emily Kavic



Cold cacophonies create cocoons and
I am born
Enrobed in thought like caramel bathed in chocolate
I am flavor, I am taste, I am wonderfully alone
Dripping in solitude, my wings are dipped in
Golden wax and my thorax wades through the water
Like an oar dipping into a glistening pond
Estuaries of estrogen flow through me like a turbid body
Torpedoing into the tunnels of my mind and the channels
That course through the brackish churning of my baffling body
Boisterous bodies make collective consciousness to which I do not
Subscribe, I am imbibed in the wholesome thing that is the self
Circumscribed in ancient mariners’ diatribes, I am
A Mind with a body, not a body with a mind
Contrived of the most curious oddities that collect at the corners of society,
I am deprived, derived of all of the things that I haven’t eaten in the last month
Revived by only the pint-sized container of my heart
Which spills into the rest of me like a stream into a lagoon
World war too soon all fizzing up inside of me like
A monsoon wreaking havoc upon my hips and dips and
Bones and groans
I am a shell of what I used to be, thrown aside from the roadside
Like I am sown from the dirt and plowed and tilled until I am
Unbeknownst to man
Half of a human, whole of a human


Closing my eyes and camouflaging into the crass words spoken by the creek
I capitulated and lanced my be-ailed body into the water to whittle off the
Woeful wrongs that I had committed in the waste bin that proved to be my life
Lixiviating the livid lungs that breathed life into my lush skin that grew ripe with the flower bed which lay underneath the water’s surface, pretending that I had some semblance of purpose
Yet I was carrying a burden on my epidermis, my bones floating to the top suggesting something less than anthropomorphous and eternally condemned to being hemimetamorphous
Excursus, I am born again in a thick, dark wood
Birch tree leaves entangling themselves and growing inextricably intertwined
No longer am I blind, quarantined, or resigned
My predilection towards something other than corporeal and temporal abjection
I am not defined by my midsection and will no longer live life by means of retroflexion
Multi-faceted and multitudinous like an calculaic conic section
No longer genuflection such that I can perform my own vivisection on my mind
Wallowing through the waters of my consciousness, I plod and impregnate the water with the concoctions of what I want to be
No longer emaciated but instead an epiphany detonated and never-to-be-dissipated
Precipitated by the amalgamated “I” with self
No longer do billow waves drown me, play on like a playground
Me, delivering myself to whittle down the ship on which I have
Sought to my own existence
No longer am I a squatter in the water but rather its very own daughter
I am aquatic, exotic, at times hypnotic but oh-so wonderfully quixotic


Riffles and ripples riff through me like a pianist playing jazz
Also known as the topaz embedded in my soul
My hand kisses the water, flirts with it, eats dessert with it, a deafening silence feels like a thousand hertz on the outskirts of my hearing
Peacock feathers fan out overhead as the sky cacaws down to me whilst I souse in the water
As it ebbs and flows como agua para chocolate, paralleling the perpetual parodies that play out in my mind that is steeped and soaked in sultry steam
For however much time that I have believed that a meal would make me kneel before myself
For however much time that I have believed that the absence of my body would allow for the presence of the world, like negative space to which the world could conform and fill in the blanks
For however much time that I have thought my Achilles’ heel was an electric eel inside of me that made me waste away and decay into something less dense than talk at a Rococo soiree
That somehow on my resume would be my capacity to attain some spiritual bouquet laced with the frays of that day that never arrived, my independence day, wide and churning like the Chesapeake Bay breaking away and leading me astray like the lulling security in the verbiage of Hemingway
What I have learned is that there is no partition between me and the water
Never should I surmise that there is some natural inquisition wherein I am combating the nature
But rather, the more that I take away from myself is the more that I take away from nature
There is an equilibrium in my ischium and in the whole leaf-laden condominium in which I sing my woes and throes as I dispose of my clothes
I am

Emily Kavic is a 17-year-old aspiring to stir the souls of those around her. When her nose isn’t poked into one of Sartre’s works or a staple of nineteenth-century Russian literature, she can generally be found pondering the zeitgeist. Otherwise, she spends copious amounts of time with her two beloved Schnoodles, aptly Schnoodie and Cutie, respectively. As a matter of course, she is an avowed mint chip aficionado.