Poem by Ashlynn Doljac

Metabolic Memory
When my stomach is so empty that it churns your name, 
I cover my mouth-only to realize that the sound is incontestable, 
coming from the depths of me.
A guttural echo squeezing sad memories through kidneys, 
but no filtration system can distill you- or flush out the toxins. 
We are the science experiment gone terribly wrong, 
abandoned etch-a-sketch on trees, 
the Pandora's box I don’t dare open, 
hidden in the basement of my mind’s corridors. 
When my stomach is so empty that it churns your name,
I begin to nibble on remnants of you. 
The times I thought I was in love with your Cheshire smile and angular nose,
but I was really just dancing with my own darkest shadow, 
sinking the ship and biting the dust.
I was only craving a cool glass of attention paired along with a heaping bowl of belonging. My stomach doesn't speak English, and thus I have become illiterate to its primal cries. Twists and knots of you are seeking some sort of indecipherable plea for an exit, an escape. Like closing the door with a heart trembling in the throat only to be picked off the branch. 
I was low hanging fruit, and you were the gardener. 
The snakes warned you not to pick me, but you did and now look at the mess behind us.
I have become an arsonist, burning down the bridges we used to stroll on. 
My darling, I am no sweet apple, my core is bitter and skin tougher than steel. How you managed to seep in through the layered amour I could never understand. 
But you see, when my stomach is so empty it churns your name, 
and instead of feeding the fire inside of me, I vomit. 
Words on the page and paint to the canvas, flame to the match and foot through the door
I run. And run and run and run, and just when my legs could splinter in half,
I draw your profile in the dark with a frenzy of fireflies, over and over and over. 
I draw your profile until I can’t remember what you look like anymore.
I draw your profile and the churning simmers; 
I draw your profile until you fizzle and fade from view. 
I run back to the place I once called home, and this time,
when my stomach is so empty
it churns for a different kind of love. 
One that might finally let me feel full. 
-A

Ashlynn is a multi-disciplinary artist, spoken word poet, and dreamer, who recently won 1st place as a finalist at the Guelph and Toronto Poetry Slams, and has several solo exhibitions around the GTA. Her work centres on the notion of humans as storytellers, by creating a sense of embodied art-making connected to the earth. For Ashlynn, art is a vehicle to transport, translate, and transform ideas of life, love, loss, and finding her voice through imaginative avenues.
​Website: ashlynndoljac.format.com
Instagram: @artistic_allegories
Youtube: @ashlynndoljac1318

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