Diabetes
A lover's body, a landscape of illness: mice, ants, and monkeys gnaw;…
Read more βA hunger-inflated child, a mother's eyes screaming justice from the poem's inescapable, haunting, desperate page.
Walking into my poem
she sat like a metaphor
on hunger, her child slung
on her shoulders,
nothing to cover an inflated stomach.
Whenever I saw that page,
on which this desolate poem lived,
this womanβs eyes screamed at me,
words buzzed around her face
like black flies that she carelessly waved away,
as I tried to flee in panic.
But a poem is no car.
There are no windows I can roll up
to evict her from my world
and so she kept sitting in my poem
asking for justice.