Blackbirdan online journal of literature and the artsSpring 2017  Vol. 16 No. 1
an online journal of literature and the arts
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Amor Fati

When I sat, small,
in the operating room,
cowering before his knife,

begging against the trach
he threatened, I did not
know that these cuts would

save more than my body.
I would not negate any of it
now if I could. I carry

the discomfort like a koan
in my mouth, mindful
of the days I lost unliving.

I love this ruined body, my
numb neck, the way it led
me back to the world from

dormancy as if it were leashed
to the resounding yes of the
universe. With your hands

on my neck’s scars, I love
them. You trace the long path
of my survival with your

whole tongue. If Nietzsche’s
demon appears, I can finally
greet him as a god proclaiming

beauty. I will speak with my
ravaged tongue, cut me again
and again, make me whole.  

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