December 28, 2016
America, sterile. I am Boston
born, but lineage is chronicled
karyotypically. The body is
46 chromosomes. I am grandmother
folded into mother folded
into me. Rice paper, twisted
into translucent swans. I am embolism,
hidden in radial artery as my father
learns how to dissect a heart and stitch
it back together with zip ties
and dental floss. Knuckles wrenched
into ampersands. Shanghai sunset
flush across the face. Syllabic
stutters I mistook for suffocation.
Glass: A Journal of Poetry is published weekly by Glass Poetry Press.
All contents © the author.