by Brianna Cunliffe
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feed me better fables:
animal, swallowing its own fetid mouth
god knows I need it. it’s all
calculations for the septic
fugitives in the morning
and wine in the afternoon.
the utility of all this falling apart is
the sextant it makes of me
the remnant proofs that help me read
the clear maritime sky
they say no more trickster pain
pretending to be holy
gone a little golden with greed
he asks how I like to be touched and I’m tempted to say
in the head, sibylline madness, not to admit I’m
mere creature, but no-
like that. just like that.
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Brianna Cunliffe is an environmental justice activist and storyteller. As a queer woman who grew up on a disintegrating Carolina coastline, her work is animated by fierce love of the fragile places we call home. She’s a Best of the Net nominated poet with work published in Revolute, Reckoning Magazine, Lucent Dreaming, Storm Cellar, Claw and Blossom, Blind Corner, and more, and you can find her on Twitter @BriannaCunliffe.