Megan Borocki

Field Notes No. 11

Children gather, learn ways
to properly disembowel
a bear. Remove the innards

to feed pigs. Don’t mind
maggots. Feed the pigs.

Empty now, children
crawl inside, take turns
napping with dried blood.

*

What is it like
breathing in the wetness
of your body, mother?
Pooling liquid of lungs,
a self-drowning.

*

Most days, my knees creak, ache
every time it rains. A reminder
of this body, A reminder of failing.
It is always failing me. It will continue
to fail me. These knees keep
burning me alive.

*

Moss has begun growing
on my brain. Fuzzy
inside and out. Life
has become tasteless.

*

Maybe there was hope
for a pure child
after all.

*
 
I can only faintly smell you
in the air now, in the clothes
cleared out. The ones dad
didn’t throw away.

*

When we were young brother
pushed pieces of pencil lead
into his left eye. Didn’t make a sound.
He wanted to know what it felt like
to be in pain. To be watched
without looking back.

*

Forget that we planted
bees in the lawn at night.
Searched “salve” to relieve
stung soles.

*

How quickly we became
strangers again. Do you miss
fighting with pool noodles
at one am in the backyard,
only the sounds of the beating,
the whistling before impact.

*

I go long periods of time
without remembering
my name.

*

Brother, do I look dirty
like the day we came
out of the womb?
Stained with mother.
Can I be seen as anything
but what I’m not?

*

This year, doctors found
a polyp on my left lung.
Non-cancerous. For now.
Mother, is this how
it began in you?

*

How long till I start puking
maggots? Do you promise
to be gentle when scooping me?
You can start the cut at the pit.
Feed me to dead pigs.

*

Things people buried with loved
ones: hangnails. Their own
hair. Psoriasis flakes. Last
touch. You died in the summer.
How much does guilt weigh?

*

Today’s guilt tastes like river.

*

Mother, does your ghost
remember the swimming pool?
My swallowing of chemicals,
the burning in my eyes.

*

Do people who miss someone
also crave the taste of pool noodles?

*
 
Tonight is no good
again mother.
This body continues
to disobey me.

 

Megan Borocki (they/them) has an MFA in poetry from Bowling Green State University. They are Poetry editor for Mid-American Review. Their work has recently appeared in Moon City Review