After the Last Calorie of the Apocalypse / Prayer for the Clinically Obese


On the last day, let there be a fat inhalation
of delight between the lap of our sunrise.

As the tongue separates the doubt from the cream,
let pleasure sift through the metal strainer of time. Only

hours now. Waiting for the thin people in my life to die,
I read a magazine, have sex, smoke a cigarette and

ride the elevator down to the lobby. We’ve only minutes
now. Having nothing against them, personally, unlike art

they don’t improve much upon the original form. Why
was I only ever awake to the past, my past selves asleep

to what was plentiful? Exiting the lobby for the corner
store, I pass an absurdity of them. Only seconds now, staunchly

insisting their last instance be tailored to fit. Their paper lips
fanning the tulle hem of my dress, red, for the rest of us,

mere moments away from freedom, from this fine tyranny. If only
for a short while, as they begin to shrivel and wilt. Oh

mercy of the thin breeze. On this day, lovelies, we will be free
when the food runs out.


Omotara James is an artist, editor, and educator based in NYC. She is the author of Song of My Softening. Her work has received support from various organizations, including the African Poetry Book Fund, New York Foundation for the Arts, Lambda Literary, and Cave Canem Foundation.

[Purchase Issue 25 here.]

After the Last Calorie of the Apocalypse / Prayer for the Clinically Obese

Related Posts

a bookshelf with books!

Translation: Sindhu Library

When for the first time I entered Sindhu Library, I felt intimidated by its dark, damp interiors, mustiness, and its mystery. In the compound outside, a woman sat with balloons in her hand. Balloons in every colour, restless in the breeze, waiting for their release.

never be a punching bag movie poster

Review: Never Be A Punching Bag For Nobody

70 acres of rolling hills, playing fields, trees, and waterfront vistas—a shared community space for playing, picnicking, relaxing, and celebrating—was razed and leveled in one weekend. In its place is a long, flat, fenced-off runway.

Hall of Mirrors

November 2023 Poetry Feature: Virginia Konchan and Gabriel Spera

Gracefully we hold each other / architects and optimists / always at arm’s length like / congenital dreamers / tango masters slinkily coiled / bright candles in a hall of mirrors / whatever I propose you propose / to conquer repeating and repeating / the opposite.