– First of many poems to come

Swallow

I am not an x on a map,

a hidden treasure chest to be stolen,

a body to be had.

I am blood and guts and bones 

shaped in a question mark, 

waiting to be digested.

Despite my cloying smell

the taste is bitter.

Clawing down smiling throats 

as I am swallowed whole

plunking down, lodging, choking

I do not go down easily.

I bruise. 

nails splinter,

hair falls out – it gets ugly.

Unseemly voice cracks 

are shaken out,

I have been chewed and spit out 

I wait,

like a creature or a candle 

unsure if I am growing 

or withering faster.