“body” by Twig Cummins Garber
lungs, or brain
once verification of someone else’s sanity has been attained, there is no need to tell them you are going mad. smoke scented sweat, something sharp in the air around you, cold blood in flakes floating like feathers. breath is but a memory. exhale, inhale, exhale, inhale.
genitalia, or veins
stop. close your eyes, mouth, heart. pull jaw to the sky, top to bottom, death to your core, slick it with self sacrifice and come to yourself as you come apart. something vicious from within threatens out. you wound yourself to keep it contained, no harm to others if your own soul oozes like molasses from the edges of you. the same place may ache again, on the phantom feeling of desired pain. oh, that undoing.
eyes, or nose
you are still conscious, tattered as you are becoming, battered, battle weary, mind humming. blink. see it. past like the present, here he is. knife to your neck, wax on your back, whiskey breath. cologne like cyanide. odorless, you know this, but still the scent of death. find tears clouding vision, years and months dripping from the ducts. blink again. there is kindness, in intent, if not reception. he has brought you an offering. gas station snacks to sate a creature no longer inhabiting the
stomach, or feet
stomach this. the relapse, going back, rewind. crash. the winter fall, scar tissue sharp across both legs. ambulatory, two legged, vestigial tail bone. leave it empty. it may stay this, hollow, filling out in an act of protest. move. pace the hallways. they are not real. come out, come to.
hands, or heart
one holds the other. pulsing, squeeze and unsqueeze, shake. cold, ice crystals forming. fingers draw a line across breastbone, surgical, dissecting, killing blow. unsteady line the eyes, trace scars, feed and let go. no, no, better now than before.
vocal chords, or heartstrings
anger you did not anticipate. later you will cry out for her as others break you into pieces. voice harsh, unharmonious. you will shatter like a symphony, and they will refuse to repair you but pull and pluck you anyway.
liver, or ears
something else is breaking in the living room as in you. press glass bottles to your heart, throat, find hope. scream and hope no one hears. footsteps in the distance, spiders in the basement, you’ll slip on slick vomit. hereditary hatred falling silent in face of deafness. kiss a killer with
tongue, or bones
faking love, faking fine. once your wrist shattered and you wrapped it under long sleeves in the midst of a thunderstorm and told no one. lightning makes no sound. the thunder that follows teaches us fear. taste sweat, blood, cooling coffee might be kerosene for all you are aware. some part of you always aches, in the dull way that being sixty and sixteen will bring about.
break.
break again.
bite until you taste the blood and stay silent still.
About
Twig Cummins Garber
They/Them
Twig has been writing poetry since they were thirteen and would like to think their poems have gotten a little less angsty. They hope to get a degree in anthropology because people are the most fascinating thing about this world. Find more of their rambling thoughts and funky trends on Tiktok @disastroids.