Poetry By Lemmy Ya'akova

Ian Abbott CC




the arriving departed

inches away, years ago, I, the fool, enters
the hell room from heaven—ugly, holy. then,
there is the Matt that’s dead and the Matt that’s alive.
that’s the truth of it. everywhere I see people in heaven.
everywhere there is safety but not absence of pain 
and the pain not who we are. 
the endless highway circles back, repeats
until it can’t be repeated.
when I say yes, I woke up,
I mean to say: I saw the road inside me
for what felt like the first time, stayed awhile
just for old times sake, then walked off
into the sandy brush where the dense dark
welcomed me and either did not allow another’s
entrance or no one knew to enter in the first place.
mom, come pick me up, I’m scared. I think
I have my own thoughts. was I raised
a sleeper agent for an unknown agenda?
but she says, lemon of my life, angel of the morning!
so I cross the room in a hurry to touch her.
she takes my hand, trusts me with her whole weight.



​
​Lemmy Ya'akova is an advocate for y2k low culture, an amateur pool player, a popcorn enthusiast and a cat parent to their son, Moose. Their work can be found in HAD (Hobart After Dark), Anti-Heroin Chic Magazine, SAND Journal and more. They’re the author of the poetry collections Overflowing the Tub, Night Gallery Press, 2024 and Tiger’s Tail, General Things Press, 2024. You can keep up with their life on instagram @anoma__ly.