content warning: the poem contains references to domestic violence
small as pearls, seeds
explode; furry balsam pods in a palm
eaten by my own body
the tools — so small — left such precise holes
I couldn’t poke a hooked cockle-burr into my body with my pinky
cows can die bloodlessly
organs slipping from their bodies
into a shining heap
can you imagine —
wanting to hold that treasure in?
collecting hooked things
you once took cockle – burrs from my locks
like you feared hurting me
I mean — you already have
I can’t take off this sweater
I will not winnow the strawflowers, the zinnias
dark buckwheat, commas of cosmos, chervil, yarrow; let them lie
unopened milkweed pods, favas that blacken in their pouches
I’ve never surgically altered my body
for anyone — before
the mustard plants on the porch our feet threshed
their heads in a plastic bag I shake their remains loose
handfuls of black seed
I am the only one who makes life
in this house and I am — splintered
the nature preserve sign: a heron, beak sharp over a frog
is that what you told yourself
your hand on my wrist
this is nature
— speaking
by springtime I will have eaten myself
half a dozen times over
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Langley is a Clarion graduate, a member of Codex and SFWA, and an MFA candidate at Western Washington University. She previously served as associate editor with the Escape Artists.
Currently, she lives in the Pacific Northwest with her partners, children, and cats.
- excised organs - 23rd February 2023