Bronwyn Valentine

DEAR BODY

You decomposer ____You are dying because you are so alive ____I clump your damp earth
by fistfuls__ I exalt your guts and lowlands __your territories overrun with horses

I fill up your hollows__make abounding sockets__Mosses and lichens __detritus and duff
There is so much to take __enough for us both and more __Darling fatass __what is yours is yours

Scientists will trumpet your abundant insides__ their tools right in the thick of you ___I am jealous
I am jealous of every person walking behind you ___everyone__ every one of them you

Sometimes I marry you and have your children ___We are a family __a common wilderness
We build our ribcage ourselves__But maybe not ___Maybe I just want to fuck you ___O my body

maybe we’re just waiting for the end__ Think of the end __We’ll braid our dead hair
We’ll unfence the fenced-in places ___We’ll offer the reclamation __ALLELUIA

*

*

AMERICAN VOMITORIA

 

Archaeologist, you will not know my name
in the next millennium. You will not understand ocean,
or how a person is also an ocean. You will assume person,
teeming and full, but I am not a person, not really.
I am trying to be an emptiness.
Archaeologist, every inside wants out.

*
There will be no body, no bones or teeth.
You will only exhume foundations,
the midden of my binge and purge: cowries, cockleshells,
hag stones and sea glass, my dead grandmother’s hair.
You will call it a ritual, and I do not disagree.
You, archaeologist, will marvel at the preservation
of this late American vomitorium architecture.
How magnificent the hoard, how pristine the artifacts,
how like a queen.

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