Poetry

Jilbert Ebrahimi photo

By

Sadell Costello

autoimmune 2018

trigger happy t-cells

mistake the good guys for the bad guys

carrying myself like a weapon

a product of too many enemies

or an excess of victims

Stephon Clark was, as they say, gunned down

in his grandparents’ backyard

Syria’s children asphyxiated with sarin gas

when i open the news, Fox says:

“Woman’s Armless, Legless Body Found in NYC park”

pow pow pow

the assaults of the long exhalation of traffic

from the freeway i use as a walking path

biota from my cubicle colonize me

i eat plastic-wrapped wads of salt and fat prepared by others

even the men who love me need to be told to be gentle

all passive phrases on purpose

evil is amorphous

you can’t tell who’s behind the blood

more than one of the hydra’s heads looks like mine

the pagans say i am an excess of trapped heat

the doctors order drugs for breakfast and dinner

Fox says, “It was not immediately clear whether the woman was the victim of foul play”

meet your dreams slick with steroids

swipe, scroll, click

disappeared into a tiny room that extends forever

i fumble – stupid – with my time and responsibilities

my leukocytes are blurry eyed

but damn, man, they tried to shoot back

the cop, russia, whoever cuts off a woman’s limbs and leaves her in a park

drop bombs in damascus in the dark

of course they missed, but give them a break

i’m as see-through as glass

i shake my fist at first light towards the sky

they are fighters

forget my peacenik parents

and the psychology cultivated in the garden

this is warfare on the skin

take shelter

and dab with oatmeal

Sadell Costello

Sadell Costello writes and publishes under various pseudonyms. She can be reached at [email protected].