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My friend, an AIDS survivor, will be cut to the bone
again today. He’ll be short another digit.
Surely by now you’re a pro at amputation.
Khashoggi’s fingers were sawed off one by one.
As the forensic doctor worked, he listened to music
—one needs focus while cutting to the bone.
Who will take the blame? Not son
of a king not king—oil and cash make all legit
as democracy’s drugs kick in for amputation.
A hell of a lot better than the whole
foot, says my friend. It’s not like I can quit
because they cut me to the bone.
In the museum, the Victorian cutting saw shone
with its curved jade handle. He asked me to snap a pic,
stunned by beauty paired with amputation.
We wait for updates on Twitter, by phone.
Half of us half-here, half not giving a shit
because either way they’ll cut us to the bone;
each day is its own amputation.

~~~~
Andy Young teaches at New Orleans Center for Creative Arts. Her second full-length collection, Museum of the Soon to Depart, was published in 2024 by Carnegie Mellon University Press.
Copyright 2024 Andy Young. First published in Museum of the Soon to Depart. Included in Vox Populi by permission of the author.
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a horrifying poem and so damn necessary as the cruelties we know and those we only dare to imagine continue… digit after digit of our time.
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Cancer treatment is almost as horrifying as the disease itself.
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although, as you say, cancer treatment is a horror I personally only know from friends who have suffered it..I think the poem is less about that…and more about the dismemberment/assassination of journalist Khashoggi’…and other horrors of our time that must cut us all to the bone! Alas. …
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You are right of course, Margo. The poem is timely, and the cancer is a metaphor for the times we live in.
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