fossil fuel

by Sunny Dizon

and again, i’m digging / for the hand
around my neck / for those mud 
blind eyes / for that tasteless thing
to chew / and swallow / 

/ for the swallow outside the window
while my father bangs on the bedroom
door / for the bathroom’s stone cold floor /
for that finger in my mouth / for 

confession. / i’m digging, again, 
for gray soil caked in my fingertips /
for an altar boy’s fingers holding 
mine / for the priest’s facsimile words / for 

school uniform and tennis shoes 
standing in the pulpit / for feet sunken
into the lake’s muddy sand / for gravel
scarred hands / for 

rocks pelted at my back / i’m digging,
parched-tongue, for all-eyes-on-me
for heads-down-thumbs-up for signs
of the cross / for 

hands wandering silent / for the hem
of my skirt / for bitten pillow / for bitten
tongue / for hand on mouth / for held breath 

for the kneeling, writhing child
at the center of the earth.

::

Sunny Dizon is a Filipina writer based in New York. Born and raised in Illinois, she was named a Brooklyn Poets Fellow in 2023. She is a third-year medical student at the Zucker School of Medicine pursuing trans healthcare, and is an editor for Narrateur: Reflections on Caring, the school’s literary magazine. More of her work is available at https://asemic.github.io/ .

Image: Dan Meyers

ID: A river and soil seen from the sky.