James O'Leary
Fever Sestina
you tell me i am sick / wicker skin pale as firefly light
you tell me i am sick / boy-witch in ignorance tied to death-bliss
watch me wave alone to shadows made of smoke
alone on apple choke & self / too a kind of fire
flesh & memory / orange edge of what burns bright
tell me pain is paradise / not napalm pain / am i not sick
try again / naked & normalized / i am not sick
too long have i held each blue vein up to lamplight
as if to see inside of anxiety a working bright
as if to see inside of loathing gender / gentle bliss
binary taken made anew / oxygen’s gift of fire
i want fuel to bathe in that uncertain smoke
between / what’s hidden / all ripple steam & smoke
don’t pile wood on blackened wood / please i’m not sick
amnesia of childhood a kind of self-effigy / blank fire
memory / unaware of light except by lack of light
tell me bellows: have you ever honestly granted bliss
o silver lining / a lie can make even darkness bright
do not name me invention / don’t call me bright
a complex fuel makes for indecipherable smoke
signals / a flame for a boy / or lack of bliss
my bellows tried to hear / but to say i am sick
oversimplifies nonbinary dichotomy of james / aka light
trying to hide & flicker away from their own fire
inside & heat rises / regardless the heaviness of fire
whose desire to take to ash all previously bright
can be doused by even a flicker / shadows flee from light
like magic / a candle son’s uses of eye-smoke
& blue burns brightest at the tip of red / red as cells sick
with bliss / with bliss / risen hundred-degree cinders of bliss
but is not death a scorching side-effect of that bliss
crumbled to cremation / final heat for final fire
what kills me is this: the doctor’s diagnosis of sick
try again / notre dame’s miracle flames made bright
history tells me what to do / not breathe in that grey smoke
or hold to strength away from dancing lights
but i am sick / of those who wish to extinguish this bright bliss
scared smothered by sweltering cold shrouds of dark smoke
i refuse / to freeze in fear of future burn / in wind / i light my fragile fire
you tell me i am sick / boy-witch in ignorance tied to death-bliss
watch me wave alone to shadows made of smoke
alone on apple choke & self / too a kind of fire
flesh & memory / orange edge of what burns bright
tell me pain is paradise / not napalm pain / am i not sick
try again / naked & normalized / i am not sick
too long have i held each blue vein up to lamplight
as if to see inside of anxiety a working bright
as if to see inside of loathing gender / gentle bliss
binary taken made anew / oxygen’s gift of fire
i want fuel to bathe in that uncertain smoke
between / what’s hidden / all ripple steam & smoke
don’t pile wood on blackened wood / please i’m not sick
amnesia of childhood a kind of self-effigy / blank fire
memory / unaware of light except by lack of light
tell me bellows: have you ever honestly granted bliss
o silver lining / a lie can make even darkness bright
do not name me invention / don’t call me bright
a complex fuel makes for indecipherable smoke
signals / a flame for a boy / or lack of bliss
my bellows tried to hear / but to say i am sick
oversimplifies nonbinary dichotomy of james / aka light
trying to hide & flicker away from their own fire
inside & heat rises / regardless the heaviness of fire
whose desire to take to ash all previously bright
can be doused by even a flicker / shadows flee from light
like magic / a candle son’s uses of eye-smoke
& blue burns brightest at the tip of red / red as cells sick
with bliss / with bliss / risen hundred-degree cinders of bliss
but is not death a scorching side-effect of that bliss
crumbled to cremation / final heat for final fire
what kills me is this: the doctor’s diagnosis of sick
try again / notre dame’s miracle flames made bright
history tells me what to do / not breathe in that grey smoke
or hold to strength away from dancing lights
but i am sick / of those who wish to extinguish this bright bliss
scared smothered by sweltering cold shrouds of dark smoke
i refuse / to freeze in fear of future burn / in wind / i light my fragile fire
Biography
Photography by Nick Tillinghast
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James O'Leary (they/them) is a nonbinary poet and writer from Scottsdale, Arizona. After having lived in the deserts and forests of their home state, James has now traveled across the US to pursue an MFA at Sarah Lawrence College, where they are a poetry reader and blog contributor at Lumina. When James isn't writing or reading, they're probably playing music, learning to cook, or watching birds from a windowsill. You can find James's most recent works at Blacklist and Mistake House; or, follow them on Twitter @thesundaypoet.
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