Starvation

I hear it, the howl of hunger
day and night frantic in my face
my own hands clawing in my throat
nails scarring the days as I throw them up

Tormented by others abandoned elsewhere
who tear my memories to shreds
I hear them sing
hauling my wounds up out of time -- dense sea of pain -- my
four limbs quiet

The greatest wound
grows between my teeth
I hear that source of sound
I hear in my face the long dead
sing triumph and then sing it again
I thrust my hands into my throat
forcing a still channel screaming out

--Xue Di


*

For my dear concerned ones, I am fine. Dark days are few and far between. And actually it was my cervix that was bleeding, not my ovaries. Though ouch either way.

I love the hands in throat. I'd also love throat in hand.

oh dear. it is a dark day. my ovaries are bleeding, i am a bad teacher, and i was torn a new rear orifice today re: one poem in particular. i am so young to already be parodying myself. in a completely different and entirely electronic forum, people are discussing me now in the third person. it's weird. i thought once upon a time that it would be neat and raging to read my last name standing in for the whole of me but no it's just weird. in china, writers have two names. their given name and their writing name. Xue Di is not Xue Di except on paper. off paper he is someone else. what kills me about this is that I see him in the halls and say, hey Xue Di, how's it going? and he says, it is fine. but i didn't just address him the person i just addressed him the writer. and to be honest i'm jealous. i wish at school and on paper i was one name and at home i was another. it would give me a little necessary distance.

did i mention my ovaries are bleeding?

i went home to curl up with a blanket and hot tea but ended up spilling the tea on myself and my carpet. it was red tea.