First Supper — Vishwa Bhatt

First Supper

Vishwa Bhatt

Content Warning: eating disorders

We are the type of family To feed our delicacies to the crows

Watching the things we aspire for Be pecked at & hollowed out

The remnants of these easy pickings Still rotting long after we turn our heads

(when they asked if we had any last words this is why we said no)

Our dreams sit untouched on the dining table So we grind them to seeds

Then discard them in the birdfeeder Of our neighbor’s backyard

Convinced the feeling that knots our intestines Is disgust (after all, we know what comes of craving)

We swathe ourselves in empty stomachs And wipe away the saliva that does not froth at our lips

When blood bursts from our left nostrils Our first instinct is to lick that clean too

Obedience is a meal we could swallow our whole lives As long as we sick ourselves when no one sees

We are a family who starves a good reputation Then pretends we aren’t gorging on crumbs