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By t’ai freedom ford
even with its selfish, gaping mouth always hungering
for anything that throbs. even with its greedy
hands that rob the day of light.
even as it feeds on dust and flux and flails itself
into a dizzying orbit. even if i am but a speck
in its memory—invisible. insignificant. in
even if i am fucked from the outset:
a willing victim longing to taste
my own bloodsong. even with its inherent
loss and injury—shattered bones, scabs,
torn skin. even with all of its requisite
failures. stops and starts. hearts ripped
and thrown to grinder. it is my only
reminder that i breathe and bleed and need.
even if this empty hand is my only
t’ai freedom ford is a New York City high school English teacher and reformed “slam” poet. Her poetry has appeared in Drunken Boat, Velvet Park Magazine, Sinister Wisdom, Union Station Magazine, Tour Literary Magazine, and Wilde Magazine. She is a Cave Canem fellow who lives and loves in Brooklyn, New York. She hangs out digitally at: shesaidword.com.