autopsy of war
Kimberly Nguyen
war i am trying to run from you i burn sage trying
to banish you but the smoke curdles at the sight of you
i went to therapy and laid on the operating table when my therapist
opened me up she saw tobacco stains on all my organs we rummaged
for a part of me you hadn’t smoked out we defused land mines
you had buried and forgotten and all that remained of me was a skeleton
i put my organs in jars on a shelf and i walk past them every morning what is grief
but a body that cannot be laid to rest jars on life support a skeleton
in the closet what is grief but the cruelty dust buries everything
i cannot bear to
war i am because you were who am i if you are not
you have beaten all of my utterances into ghost notes but i can’t play the song
without them will i always be a placeholder for a silence
will i always be bones collecting dust
war to throw the jars away i must begin to acknowledge their loss
i must perform my own autopsy i don’t want to keep my organs here but i don’t want to let
my organs go what i really want is whole organs undamaged organs grief is not
the needle sewing my hollow body back up but each stitch i keep ripping out war
you are my cause of death and if i am a ghost of you then i am my cause of death
and whose fault is that but mine whose fault is that but yours
Kimberly Nguyen is an emerging Vietnamese-American poet originally from Omaha, NE but currently living in New York City. She is a recent graduate of Vassar College, where she was a recipient of a Beatrice Daw Brown Prize for Poetry. Her work can be found in perhappened mag, Hobart, Muzzle Magazine, and others. She is currently an Emerging Voices Fellow in Poetry at PEN America. She can be found on Twitter and Instagram at @knguyenpoetry.


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