My first & only sling shot had fake red & blue and yellow feathers, my great aunt bought it for me at the gift shop of the Indian burial grounds in Moundsville, West Virginia, where she lived & died & one day, went to the doctor for a simple procedure & came out without her uterus—

by Grey Vild

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grey vild

Grey Vild is a Queer Art Mentorship & Brooklyn Poets fellow. His work has been published in ThemFaultElderlyVetch, and Winter Tangerine Review. He is beginning his MFA at Rutgers University and is working on his first collection of poems, The M4T Files.


Editor’s note (Kate): This poem, by Grey Vild, reveals and tears apart the ways in which violence that is done to the body, and violence that is done to identity function as one organism. The images here swing from soft to eviscerating. From snow, to tooth, to heaved vomit. From mother, to death, to a subjective history. The syntax breaks and/or redefines individual words, the way the body is broken and/or redefined, the way the self is broken and/or redefined. Meanwhile, the rhythm of the poem as a whole continues to rush and sigh, with one sustaining breath. Even in all the breaking, something larger holds. This is a hushed deconstruction. The hush of it mirrors the way deconstruction is often almost quiet enough to miss. Grey doesn’t let us miss it. By holding focus in the wrecking, this poem holds space for relief, for a dark and honest hope.


Copyright © 2012 Swarm