This morning I opened your email, and foundthe body of your daughter, her face erased
by invisible ink. I saw on paper, faint linesthat redrew her features into caricature—
the sphinx, the grandmaster, the bitch.Cartoons invented to live in my closet,
collecting paraphrases with a hammer,storing the closed captions of a mute.
Jars of stunted-self languish there still,in the half light. Stacked fat slices
of summer pear. Peeled, cleft andwithout mouths, they kiss up
against the glass. Inanimate, butbreathing. Listen – they call out,
to no longer glisten in syrupof burgeoning blood. Call out
to end the obligatory bob of an orb,forever seeking a diminished pit.
You see Father,I came to count the shards.Shatter the shelves of your empty chest,breathless and blinded.
Pick up what’s left of each inhuman word,paste remnants of jagged lettersto my own bruised ribssculpt every defect intosplintered divine ambitionto live earth bounda masterpiece of deliverance.
I your Burger’s daughter—lookwatch my teeth tear flesh from stone.
Photo by Atlas Green on Unsplash