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Return, Briana Gonzalez

CW: gore, blood/body horror

Mangle open the cavern

of my chest and weave

my entrails along the tree branches.

Let them photosynthesize.

Dump whatever is pumping

through my veins back into the river’s gush.

Slice off my ears, they should go to the crickets,

whose chorus should always be appreciated.

Ask the owl if it would like my lips.

If not, ship them to your nearest

ocean and serve them to whichever

fish surfaces first.

Sever my hands and feet, replace

them with roots, watch them worm

into the ground in fractal patterns.

I do not want my lungs, give

them back to the half-frozen sand dunes.

I do not want my spine, rip her out

and send her to the spider, watch it weave.

My teeth?

Pry them free.

Make them rocks,

make them mountains.

Make them seashells and litter the beach.

My hair belongs to the racoon

and the beaver, please send them my love.

And because I know you’re going to ask,

yes, the flower petals may have what’s theirs;

my nose has been miserable since the beginning.

Pluck out my eyes and toss them to the clouds,

they’re happiest when crying.

Splinter my arms, offer them to desert,

see if the cacti need help.

Wrench my heart from the wet mess

of pink and red she’s buried in,

she won’t stop beating and that’s alright.

Find a damp spot of dirt, slash

it open with your spade,

tuck the last of me into

that dark and fertile silence.


Briana Gonzalez is a Chicane, queer poet. She has pieces published in Coffin Bell Journal,Ample Remains, Dead Fern Press, and is expecting publication in Southchild Lit. They enjoy watching the night sky for bats, horror movies, and spending time with loved ones. Check Briana out on Twitter @brimothee.

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