GRACE SHUYI LIEW
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dog fetches me your sock I spend all my days growing onions indoors to convince you I’m lonely lonely when I cry too soft the mice in the walls mistake me for one of theirs teaching me to scuttle like I wear more pairs of feet than my own like your fingers skidding low on my wet throat fillet a pure mute space billowing you enfolded within pull a bulb from the dirt wash it white hack off the onion head to you I will always be unnamed childish asking all the world to narrate me a way into sleep how the virtuous of this world bring up children or at least imagine a place within which is tuned to fork out benevolence to ask is to puddle me under a shady afternoon sun god I never spite never want to spit mother children god I will keep tidy my hair never stare where I shouldn’t even put up a birdfeeder god a goddamn birdfeeder on the front porch I will build tomorrow first thing god this languidness can belong to me too days watching the skies not in want but in awe of their changing colors that swirl like the blood in my middle blood in my middle god |