By Suzi F. Garcia

There’s a beast in my belly, so they locked me out of paradise. I circle outside,
search for a new entry; when I throw myself on the gates, the fence burns
   my skin.
Please, my tears freeze on my face. Weeks pass, and she moves from belly
to heart. With each pump, my blood purples, my teeth grow into sharp points.
On my knees, I scratch and dig, I growl. Let me in. I cut my own tongue on 
   a canine,
mauve the river ice at my feet. Months go by. My head aches with her, my 
   eyes reflect
back a snowstorm. I am coming for you. I shake the gates, I howl, I twist 
   and break
them open at last. Their fear has fed me, and I am warm despite the lack of 
   sun—
I make my own heat. When I am finished, I walk back out the gates—reborn 
   of ash,
I have crowned myself with antlers, and this world is my home.

• Living

Poet Bio

Suzi F. Garcia is the author of Dear Dorothy: A Home Grown Fairytale (Skull & Wind Press, 2020). She is the executive editor at Noemi Press and online editor of Michigan Quarterly Review. See More By This Poet

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