Love does not want this body,
this mouth, toothless maw, hanging open
& belonging to nobody’s son.
The father died & I became nobody.
In Yoruba, a father is a name &
the left hand is taboo. One cannot offer
water with the left hand or sleep
facing upward. At night, a witch
will sit on your chest. A knife tearing
into a knife. My left hand only knows
to open itself when I need to bleed.
My left hand only knows to heal fast.
I touch the boy I want to love, hold him
in my left hand & he becomes unsacred.
Love is my left hand closing itself
into a fist. Love is taboo. Love is
something I put in my mouth to suffocate me
before the witch’s smother.
Love is the hand belonging to nobody.
I swallow with my throat still closed. The body
rejects the fist.
About the Author:
Logan February is a happy-ish Nigerian owl who likes pizza & typewriters. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Vagabond City, Wildness, Glass, and other outlets. His chapbook, Painted Blue With Saltwater (Indolent Books), is forthcoming in 2017. Say hello on Instagram & Twitter @loganfebruary.