2 Poems by Ariel Clark-Semyck

Ariel Clark-Semyck (she/her) is a poet from Chicago. She is currently an MFA candidate at Miami University in Oxford, Ohio. Her poems have been published by Heavy Feather Review, Grimoire Magazine, Witch Craft Magazine, Yes Poetry, Occulum, and elsewhere.

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productivity log


isolation has been challenging but rewarding. during this time, i have taken the opportunity to assess &
restructure my past methods of suffering, all while developing new methods that might prove their
usefulness in the months ahead. i leak menstrual blood across the bathroom floor & let it harden. i
double over in pain, slide along the walls, ricochet from doorway to doorway, shout oof! oof! oof! alarm
the cat. i role-play waterlogged ophelia & take a bubble bath face-down in my finest nightgown. i shake
my hand with my other hand. i fast-forward through brokeback mountain to get to the kissing scenes, a
giddy tear tumbling down my cheek. i shine a flashlight all over my body & spend hours on web md. i
stare at the deer in the backyard, touch my fingers gently to my heart as if to ask who me? i practice
drifting out of consciousness with my hand resting on my forehead, palm up, like all the old paintings by
the greats. i practice dreaming of you. i practice dreaming of you dreaming of me stranded in the desert
with the tumbleweeds going in the background. i practice dreaming of you dreaming of me waving a
handkerchief & calling out to you yoohoo! in your dream, we are gliding across the green screen of a
spaghetti western on a beautiful dappled stallion, my arms around your waist, my pigtails whipping in the
wind, your ten-gallon hat flying off to reveal a full head of hair. i practice waking up in a cold sweat.
admittedly, there’s been a learning curve. sometimes my suffering can get sloppy. sometimes i speed
ahead of myself & i don’t even mean to. sometimes that sky swaps its purple for pink for blue for gray
for blue for gray for blue for pink for purple again & i move so slow i can barely stand it.




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tasteful nude


all yolks run together in this afternoon sun. the sky yawns as fur spikes up from the earth. a daffodil
opens like the palm of a hand, yielding its sex to ask apocalypse now or apocalypse not with each petal
pulled. white blood cells furrow my fox-brow as i watch the space cadets fake-kiss & drink coffee in
their brightly colored lofts. gray matter floods my pelvic floor & grows whiskers. if i bounce my thigh
against my thigh just so, someone’s square jaw will appear to argue with my alone-time. i vortex into the
pea hiding between the mattresses. i spew royal jelly & get glued to the springs. i told you not to leave
me out so long— any longer & you could cut through me like butter.