by Nat Raum
my calling was to be shucked, shell
discarded like a skinny dipper, porous shield
pried apart for meat, never pearls—
never was there freshwater pure enough
for grit to taste like sugar, for precious stones
to fall like teeth in the same kind of nightmare
where i’ve practiced drowning for the last year.
nat raum (b. 1996) is a disabled artist, writer, and genderless disaster from Baltimore, MD. They’re a current MFA candidate and also the editor-in-chief of fifth wheel press. Past publishers of their work include Delicate Friend, perhappened, Corporeal Lit, and trampset. Find them online: natraum.com/links.