AUTOPSY OF MY NINE YEARS – Binnaz Deniz Yildiz
March 28, 2026
Inside my dream, an atomic bomb,
The perpetrator of a handmade human,
The characterless gravitational pull of magnets…
Which dream am I inside,
Which dream is inside of me?
Shadows rising from graveyards accuse the memory of my eyes—
No one is guilty! (For guilt is the equation hanging on the search warrants
The morning I lost myself.)
My arm, severed on a billiard table,
Levels all the planets of the world on a spirit level.
(What was that I heard? The footsteps of bedbugs in my room…)
I left my heart hostage
At the final note of the composer devouring nitrogen in the desert.
The night advances in silence.
Its soldiers firmly squeeze the hat of the sky’s false episodes.
And from the dripping fabrics, the child-god within me…
His final anthem burns and fades
Like a lost city in the candelabras of my chest…
The autobiography of horses rearing up…
Finding a diamond ring behind the chair where I prayed,
Reading fairy tales into the ears of street children to wake them up…
—No, this is not my face! This is a shape of a nightmare…
No, it wasn’t me who killed my mother with the first light of morning either!
Don’t look at me, this is a nightmare!
The unceasing ache of the ulcer in my stomach…
A few pills in my mouth, “A Clockwork Orange.” The leaves of decaying winds,
The 40th Symphony upon my shoulder…
—Oh, no!
I was the one who first named me,
And the one who engraved it on my dog tag.
I don’t know that woman.
I never had a mother!
….. A crackling music, deafening the ears…
Blood shining like twine at the tip of the old sewing machine…
And my loneliness is full of provincial towns.
“The Young Ladies of Avignon” leap upon me from the wall.
Their hair a black box on the iron frame of my bed.
Suddenly!
All the faucets: “Drip, drip, drip!”
Child-god within me, release me, I beg you!
The synapses of my mind… Inverted verbs…
Bodies wandering the streets and being shot…
My trembling fingers……
I burned the last photograph of my consciousness amidst the flames.
A porcelain doll bit my arms and entered my body just like that.
A hand reaching out in the darkness twists my temple.
The sound of dogs from afar…
My pulse leaping within howls and the faucet and right there, ah!
—Drip
—Drip
—Drip
My feet distance themselves silently.
There lies my nine years in that coffin…
A desolate beauty freezes for a split second on her red lips…
Storm, fire, rain…
My petrified face lights up with pain.
Don’t look at me, this is a nightmare! And from the dripping fabrics, the child-god within me…
His final anthem burns and fades
Like a lost city in the candelabras of my chest…