HUNGER, IN TWO PARTS by Linn Björnsdotter

Linn Björnsdotter | April 3rd, 2021 | poetry | No Comments

Poet Bio


The first time a man fucked me
it was rough
and dry
with the lights on.
The coldest night in December,
at a party where I didn’t know anyone.

When I was little,
I saw my mother cutting up liver
and pig’s heart
for the dogs.

I remember her
wielding the knife
with care,
fully aware of what damage
her hands could do.
The dogs panting eagerly by her feet.

During the coldest night in December,
I have left my mother’s caring touch.
I am liver. Heart.
An evening treat.
I am only my insides
as he devours me
all hunger and greed,
less dignified
than the dogs,
who knew when a meal was over.
Never licked the bowl clean with desperation.
Had it in them
to stop.


I still can’t recall his name.
I think he wanted to become a surgeon.
I doubt he ever did
with hands like his.

Poet Bio

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