A Public Sphere for Poetry, Politics, and Nature
a tumor. She felt it turn to pomegranate. Each night one seed eaten by a grackle who rose from her chest, intoxicated. She thanked the bird. Over many months praised its thick contorted beak, its precision. As summer slipped to winter, she thought she may never again smell a gardenia. In her mind they all seemed crumpled pieces of paper she had tossed away out of carelessness. This is what the tumor had done, reduced the whole world to nothing but metaphor, reminded her of overlooked, intricate beauty. She thanked it. And although her closest friends were unable to look at her, how hairless and rodent-like she had become, she had the grackle. Nightly it returned home.
Copyright 2020 Tayve Neese