How She Changed Her Diet

By | 1 April 2010

Two weeks now since she stopped going to work.
The phone gleams, silent as spilled blood. Skeletal remains
around the sofa indicate that she has run out
of children. Hunger is in constant motion – dogs outside
fighting each other, trees under attack from birds,
houses on fire. She peels the skin off her arms
and eats. Underneath she is decomposed, a walkway
for larvae and houseflies. Her memory is a constant drizzle,
a devouring of every face she comes across
until they resemble her first meal – the cab driver
who took her home. Alone, she reads books
again and again to remember the taste of living brains.
She holds on to a cloven copy of Ulysses
and chews her fingers until her tongue – torn taste
buds and gangrene – curls like a fetus around the bone.

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