Eating Maggots | Allahna Johnson
it’s a writhe
that’s the movement
that's the push for escape and progression
through space
it’s erratic and uncontrolled
its words chewing holes through my lips
it started with a fruit
a pinnacle of health and good-natured care
solid teeth through the center
no signs of a pit or a seed
or a soul of despair
three bites in
that’s when i realized
the sizzle sensation was separate from
the bitter taste
independent from the so-called flavor
and only related to the undrawn cause
see the movement was quiet
it took me three bites to get there!
i had held a fly before
let my fingertips lightly grace their wings
their fragility knew how to wriggle itself
to the forefront of my mind
but this one was different
it didn't have wings yet
it wasn't that reflective black-green-purple
its body was tan and lumpy
and reeked of newborn skim
instincts told me it was fragile
(and those i was never without)
i made a home in my mouth
dropped my tongue real flat
an extra few inches pulled from my jaw
giving the little one room to roam
at the base of my throat i felt a tickle
but i’d been known to weather a cold
if i could just get a few more inches, and
if you hadn't been so bold
i felt it slip and multiply
a moveable mass
hooked to the base of my larynx
i lose my grip and justify
a moveable mass
climbing up through my nose
hooked to each fold of my brain
that's the writhe!
that's the movement!
i'd known nothing of maggots before
but as lips become tongue and larynx,
nose cavity, and brain
it’s clearer in that haze
i cant really see like i used to
but it makes sense now
and while at this point it doesn't matter
(i can't help but be excited that)
i know how they got in!
it started with a fruit
the pinnacle of wealth and full-natured care
my solid teeth through the center
no pit or seed or end in despair
there-in lies life!
and i never got out of labor
it started in a garden
and ended in a favor
i wish i turned that part off
when instincts choose assimilation
the same hard bouts of histallegorical humiliation
y’all could have started in a garden
stayed outside with room for the little ones to roam
didn't have to drop my tongue
contort and fix
to make sense of what im told
there-in lies life!
that's the movement!
that's the writhe!
it started with a fruit
with a rot
concealed totally from the eye
i’d known nothing of maggots before
but as lips become tongue and larynx,
nose cavity and brain
become instinct and insult
sour, salt, and shame
i'd known nothing of the erratic nature
of maggots before
it ended in a crib-pit
tendons, cartilage, soles, and bones
sit still, hurt, holed, and desperate
no writhe, no movement
no time to untrust it
there-in lies relations
and several white single culprits
making 6-foot garden-graves of our dense great nations pulpits