There was a word inside
a rib cage,
a hard casing for
vocabulary.

I tried to tear it out.
I tried so hard.
I ate parts of it.

But
that word—
I couldn’t find it.

My lips were dripping blood.
I ate more.
I always wanted more.

Unfortunately,
I was unable to satisfy myself,
and I no longer remembered the word—

was it ever said?

I threw the carcass,
along with the other remains,
into a vacant lot.

I heard a scream
when I stepped on a bone.

The word was inside me.
It was part of me.
It tore my body
and my mind apart.

The heart I ate
answered me.

Photo Francesca Woodman,Untitled (self-portrait with chair), 1978.