by James Diaz

used to be
I had no
insides

wore my body
like an empty
wishing well

had to know
what the dark
was made of

slip tiny sheets
of paper
through the cracks
of my skin

to feel along
the edge
of my spine
for proof
of living

how slant
light
became
barely enough
to fill a room
let alone
the darkness I was made of

sleeper almonds
sheared open

this
life
will never
tell you
where it came from.


JAMES DIAZ is the founding editor of the literary arts & music journal Anti-Heroin Chic. His work has appeared most recently in HIV Here & Now, Foliate Oak, Chronogram, and Apricity. His first book of poems, This Someone I Call Stranger, is forthcoming next year from Indolent Books.


Photo: “Ei kule ami” by Aftab Uzzaman