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Cortadito.

Small Cut. I am the blood that made me.

By Jen Parkhill “JP”Published 2 years ago 2 min read
1
Photography by Adam Coleman

she’s looking at me

and I’m looking

at a wormhole

my eyes in her head

flap-jawed

a mouth

a mind

a runaway train

i am the blood

that made me

hot hot

as the I-

land of its source

it’s a choice

letting that fire run

capsize my head

bang the nail

until its dead

i’m really seeing it

now

putting my hand

in the earth

pulling up

root vegetables

elephant hearts

car parts.

reach until I

hit lava

digging around

in dino bones

recycling bins

sifting cards

i can’t read

but not because

the spanglish—

the handwriting

it trips me.

coffee coffee caffeine please

three heads on repeat

she’s telling a story

when her bra fell off

in Denny’s

deafening laughter

that was yesterday

a decade

double that

me

slinking off

cradling silence

and the giraffe

wallpaper in the

bathroom stall

is still here

reminding me—

a time when it was safe

to be happy.

we weathered that storm

her daughter died

came back

a voice

like warm water

no thing can break

you now

a lie

suits of steel

bullets boomeranged

birds of steam.

there’s still a house

to clean

blink blink

here comes

that black drink

again

clanging of spoons

like a clock

in my throat

pour pour repeat

while i quietly

rip the gear out

pray no one sees

they sip

i shape shift

right here

at the table

bits of stubborn bone

falling to the ground

what used to be

my feet

parts that stab

parts that break

parts that bent

you

i want them gone

miami nights

we drank jet fuel

then tried to lay

in bed

laughter that made

the sky clap

a day in the sun

that left me

with aloe on my back

at 4am

not her

a rainy bus ride

arms stacked

with damp groceries

a bus stop

a herd of cats

her hands

my hands

a looking glass

mom fell

on rollerblades

tell people

it was a shark bite,

we said

sounds tougher,

we said

but she’s tough enough

she taught me that

women with fire

in the lungs

my blessing

my curse

coffee’s gone cold

pay the check

tears escaping

in the parking lot

we embrace

my pain

her pain

she takes some

feel it in her chest

blood works

that way

too.

heartbreakinspirationallove poemsperformance poetrysad poetrysurreal poetryslam poetry
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About the Creator

Jen Parkhill “JP”

Jen Parkhill “JP”, a first generation Cuban-American artist and proud member of the LGBTQIA+ community. Cat dad, writer, filmmaker, actor, friend, and graduate of the Tisch School of the Arts, NYU.

Hurling through time.

@jenparkhill

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