Poetry by Maria Kornacki

Adrien Millet CC




Poetry That Reminds Me

              Of being in my body                           to
              get out! of my own 

              way. Roe v. Wade overturned
              rage can be transmuted 
              into beautiful 
              poetry that reminds me of being 
              in my lines. A tiger

              tail twists, but doesn’t 
              trip. This body of water is 
              irreplaceable, traveling through me, 

              so I create 
              another world, scavenge it is 
              grounding, unlike
              land I float & sink, rinse & repeat.

              Poetry that reminds me of being
              in my body, which is a constant death
              like poetry, a channel, today we have

              contemporary slam poetry & others
              promoting poetry shamelessly on their 
              YouTube Channels. We need more of 
              this without capitalization.

              Poetry that reminds me that the body 
              is formeless, art 
              theory. A lyric  

              Writing is a constant line, but so is death 
              Periodt. Cycles. To be the egg
              that binds & bakes the cake. Repetition 
              reminds me of structure of 

              poetry that  
              reminds                             me to sigh. 
              Sometimes it’s necessary to break 

              friendships? I meant the silence 
              with increased
              intention, a physical reminder to write

              the sigh. Beat the egg, yolk
              out! So the reader can catch up, so I can 
              yank the narrative down to speed.

              Poetry that reminds me why                                    
              I write on               loose leaf  wayyyy out of                                            margins                  in the
              shower (best ideas)
                                breath, returning                                            an effortless                                     life 
              force. You don’t have                       to remind the body (think about that for a sec & get emo)
              to                                                             do that and yet some folks forget.     
              Sing to 

              the holy body like
              you would lay with a child in 
              their dreamscape. Read them 

              to that fluttering state, each palm line. 
              Plant body on 
              pillow, sing to the plant & it will 
              grow, sing to the body & it will become

              the plant. Your garden is doing fine,
              so you may breathe. You are too. All 
              cells can only go up from this acute 
              awareness. The body, a green vessel.




​Maria lives in Michigan and holds a BA in Creative Writing from Eastern Michigan University. The only “M(F)A” she has is in the first two letters of her first name. Maria’s latest writing has recently been published or is forthcoming in SIAMB!, Feral: A Journal of Poetry And Art, Wingless Dreamer, Ethel Zine, & Strange Horizons, among others. Her first hybrid chapbook, Real Water Tiger will be published by Ethel Zone’s Micro Press in December ‘23. Maria’s first full-length, an epistolary poetry book, is looking for a home. She writes for Detroitisit.com