Until It Bleeds
I have a clone cry for me;
I tie soft fabric scraps
around my beloved goat
and taunt it ‘til it cries.
I cry virtually by point
and clicking. I take these pills to cry
but it doesn’t always work.
I imagine my face sliding off
and that is like crying. I stick
my nose deep in the throat
of the flower. I write love notes
to all my friends and sign them
with a listing cry. I feed them
to the garbage disposal.
Sometimes they need a little
push. I extend my index finger.
What’s going on. Nothing. Me
neither. I’m so glad. Scratching
the mole until it bleeds.
Jill Khoury is a multiply disabled poet. She edits Rogue Agent, a journal of embodied poetry and art. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in numerous journals, including Copper Nickel, Bone Bouquet, Dream Pop, and CALYX. She has written two chapbooks—Borrowed Bodies (Pudding House) and Chance Operations (Paper Nautilus). Her debut full-length collection, Suites for the Modern Dancer, was released from Sundress Publications. Find out more at jillkhoury.com.