Hush My Compost
The grandiloquence of the whole meal
denigrated to shreds and slivers.
The dignity of the uncooked, the never-plated,
Masticated clemen-rinds and guava-peels,
dregs of tea leaves in lycanthropy
from future to sodden.
And meat. Never meat.
Because of some principle
I heard through the God-vine in my head,
the God o’silent creatures with big ears.
More eyes than brain.
I pray my cells know the difference
between wronged and wrought.
I pray they refuse to sprout from animals
whose God is an instinct
to fight for life. Death is not closure.
I hope it is enough to sprout of cosmics.
Some big bang that martyred the nothing.
Hush my compost.
My mouth is crowned with little teeth jewels
dam my hanging tongue
tense as a guillotine refusing gravity.
I will never push you from your marrow.
Swati Sudarsan is based in Oakland, CA (Ohlone Land). She works in cancer research during the day, and writes in the margins of her life. She identifies as a first generation, queer Asian-American. She lives with her partner and cat.