Mealtime Scene

by Sarah Cavar

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Eating against a dinner of the closed-
door. According, all are simultaneous
ly eating and uneating. The kitchen
has a numerous violence yet only 1
a razor blade. Of course it belongs
to a father. Of course is my name.
Schrödingerian energy convenes
me of calorie. Why when what be
longs of my father makes a nasty
brutish brief of ruined dishwash. I
am wristing blood not even mine
d. Attempt a weight in dirty river. Perhaps
she said to me I was born broke.

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Sarah Cavar is a PhD student, writer, and transgender-about-town, and serves as Managing Editor at Stone of Madness Press. Author of two chapbooks, A HOLE WALKED IN (Sword & Kettle Press) and THE DREAM JOURNALS (giallo lit), they have also had work in Electric Literature, The Offing, Bitch Magazine, and elsewhere. Cavar navel-gazes at cavar.club and tweets @cavarsarah