Cailey Tin | Poetry

if anything, I was a puzzle board of a flower / missing its stomata / in human form, with nothing

but a heartbeat / & a brain that can spell / each gap between my words / like a missing tooth / or

an empty stomach. / the one that squirms within my rib cage until it’s severed, open to viruses,

open to the art / of interpretation. / as the belly refluxes, I taste the sour, vacant space, / licking

away at the decaying thread in my mouth from / the time there was / a loose tooth. / it came out

one midnight in the hospital, in another closed room / where I begged & begged for a gift, / a

scissor to stick in my mouth / & cut it off. / instead, you passed me a box / so bending, I peered

in, / ribs splitting inward. / no; I didn’t hold my stature, / frail bones & sagged spine, / when the

lid snapped shut. / now I’m trapped with curiosity / & darkness. / but oh! / this gift feels like a

lung, two lungs, / feels like mockery. / it’s my stomata / the missing piece / the placeholder of

the vacancy above my ribs. / I still can’t swallow / it’s too different from tasting / & this piece,

too minuscule. / I grit my remaining teeth & realize / my bones have expanded / to fill every

hollow room. / all the pieces cling together to hold each other’s hand / I, growing & growing. /

thank you for gifting me a mismatched piece, / misfitting lungs, / this prank taught me

lessons of a lifetime; that one / art is made from nothing / & two, / this tightly shut box

instructs me / to keep breathing /nevertheless.