I was watching myself through the keyhole
of my apartment: I was blonde and had
cloned myself to deceive the murderer
that was spying on me through the key-
hole of my apartment.
Next, I was in
my underwear, in the woods; I had seen myself, in
my dream, shed my clothes like late autumn leaves
in the midst of winter, and saw my shadow become
brittle and knifelike. Erratically, now, as I whispered
tear-stained lullabies to myself and the lingering
presence of the ghost I had once been, echoes, dripping
with the viscid, expired oil I had used to pick the
corroded lock with the branch of a willow tree,
were hurled at me from off the mountaintops
ahead. I felt behind my ear there was a flower
touching me (there was), but it was
her – it was the blonde
lashes of her right eye fluttering against my frost-
bitten skin, and with closed eyes I wondered
if, one day, the horizon would bend upwards
and strangle the sun.
Stephanie Luka was born in 1997 to a Dutch mother and a Congolese father. She discovered her fascination with the arts only after quitting her career as a professional gymnast and entering the University of Amsterdam at the age of sixteen. Her work emanates mostly from dreams; it strives to acknowledge and interpret these fragmentary, illogical shards of truth, and make them into something that is a just a little more exoteric and relevant than they were before. Five of her poems have recently been published in the debut print issue of Allegory Ridge.