After the Incision

By Dena Igusti

After the Incision
the part that is supposed to be my clitoris
falls on a floor in indonesia
suddenly,
it expands, and bubbles then bubbles and expands
until arms, legs, and a head protrude
forming a figure of flesh
it looks like my body,
but the part cut out of me
is still there.

the body leaps across the atlantic
i try to pull it down by the ankles but
its legs take me with it.
we end up in front of my house*
(*a plot of brick in the west i can call home)
the body takes the key from my pocket
lets itself in, rushes to my room.

by the time i enter,
the body has opened both closets
rummaged through my things
puts nothing back
i ask the body
why won’t you come back to me?
the body scoffs,
why are you hurt?
because you are not mine anymore
the body shrugs its shoulders is that the only reason you feel loss?
the body takes the shirt we once shared
the photograph of us together
the underwear we both liked
i tell it i miss you
...
i ask can we ever happen again
the body leans in
a small pain is still pain
you cut out part of me
do not be surprised that
the rest of me left too
i sob.
i choke out

i never wanted this.
they said
no one could touch us
if there was nothing to touch
i heard another body
died from an unwanted hand
the rest of it died shortly after
if i chose the hands
that killed the same part
i could still live

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Dena Igusti is an Indonesian-Muslim poet based in Queens, New York. She is currently the
co-founder of Short Line!, an organization dedicated to connecting artists to their
communities, to each other, to resources, and to themselves. She is a 2018 NYC Youth Poet
Laureate Ambassador, and 2017 Urban Word Federal Hall Fellow. Her work has been
featured in Thread, Quail Bell Magazine, and more.