Stillbirth, Yemoja

Poetry / Logan February

In my language there is no translation
for mismatch and no word for membrane.

Skin translates to flesh translates to body.
A person is bound so they are heavier.

The cohesion is an only friend.
I am the kind of man who is a feather.

I spill myself and come unstuck.
Whole makes parts. Parts do not make whole.

Whole is missing something.
The cohesion does not know meβ€”

the kind of man who wants to be
the kind of woman who bears children

that sound like birds
when they cry.

There is a word for rebirth
but it connotes the aftermath

of a sticky death. A body is bound
so it sinks when it drowns.

I am unsure that I have enough names
to be something other than what I am.

Featured in Verse Daily’s β€˜Web Weekly’ series (July 31, 2017).

Logan February is a happy-ish Nigerian owl who likes pizza & typewriters. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Vagabond City, (b)OINK, Glass, and more. His chapbooks, Painted Blue With Saltwater (Indolent Books) & How to Cook a Ghost (Glass Poetry Press) are forthcoming in 2017.