in sai mart i pick a stale cake
and feel sorry for it
wrapped too tight
in plastic
i reach for the beer
but
keep my hand soft
so the men don’t
look too long
at my yearning
their eyes
already peeling the steam
off my back
i tell myself i’m not the kind of girl
they’re dreaming of
but the hair
on my skin
doesn’t
believe me
my throat feels heavy
tonight sadness
has been singing
through it and the tune
keeps
curling
itself up my ribs
refusing
to sleep
i don’t know
who i’ve been since
7 pm after the last
clinical meeting after
the nurses stopped
saying my name
with
kindness
the larynx
could
be mine but
still hums
like there isn’t
enough room
for a little more
night and
a little more
after that
i just can’t help being
stuck
with an
unheld body
that keeps happening
to me
in quiet
fluorescent light
i wonder
would you still take me
to that hill
where the poachers
are too tired
to hunt
and the sky
lets us lie down
among our parents’
forgotten laughter
till our bodies
spill upward into
its stars
without asking if death
was always meant
to feel
this much
like
living
Rachel Chitofu is a medical student and poet whose work has been published or is forthcoming in Chiron Review, Dark Thirty Poetry Publishing, San Pedro River Review, Bayou Review, and Pacific Review. She won Rhodes University’s New Coin Poetry Prize in 2021.
Interested in submitting to the 365 Collection? Complete your submission here during the last two weeks of National Poetry Month.