by Hannah Rubin
Make me
dim-witted. One
of those days where
I can’t bare it—the hum
of madness. My belly wreaking
havoc up and down my spine,
intestines in a knot.
Garlic! Disgusting! or maybe
you called it gross & I called it
get me out of here.
A different morning: I’m spinning
sex between my fingers.
Cavorting with an old pillow
case hoping you’ll come along
and lift my top.
As a kid I would peel the skin
off of grapes with my two front teeth
and gently push the innards
into my cheek with my tongue
keeping it safe before coming
down on it with a hard chew. Pulpy
swallow & the great disappointment:
here was a truly valuable soft thing
that I had worked hard for
& didn’t know what to do with.
This poem previously appeared in Cordite Poetry Review.
hannah rubin is a writer and interdisciplinary artist. Their work explores queer ecologies of gender and relationships, and their writing has appeared or is forthcoming in Nat. Brut, TAGGVERK, DoubleBlind Magazine, Cordite Poetry Review, Berkeley Poetry Review, BRINK, Pornstar Martini Magazine, and elsewhere. hannah lives and works in Los Angeles.