By Saoirse Palmer
I was born a hungry child.
The waters unbroken, drowning birthplace
left only room for
an open mouth that
made no sound. Those who
are silent are truly the most hungry. I remember being
plated with a heavy chest
(one fed with angel wings that stretched in and through
like hands that were veins & the
only life source – the birth cord) I remember
I traced golden crucifixions
I didn’t understand. Bleeding & impaled, holy suffering that
granted nothing. I saw we must suffer to be deemed lovable.
When sitting on those glacial seats, the ones as rigid as what it took to be human, I thought of flesh: eating, burning, ripping, loving.
To love a God is to eat him whole, from the womb,
at the dinner table, in those tempestuous seats – to love someone
you must consume them first; that is what I have been fed,
with holy water.
–
Saoirse Palmer (who prefers the name Ashton) is a sixteen-year old transgender writer from Northern Ireland. He enjoys reading both modern and nineteenth century poetry, his favourite poets include Edgar Allan Poe, Ocean Vuong and Richard Siken.
Diamond Gazette 