When I Speak Up For Myself, It Sounds Like Killing A Lobster

Photo by Toa Heftiba u015einca on Pexels.com

by Allyn Bernkopf

issue 77

I plunge a blade behind her head & rip 
abdomen away from carapace. Her mouths

gape in silence as my bone splitter splits & I feel 
her last flinch shiver under my nails. I hover

her body over a steaming bowl, new water—
tomb—to call home. Ghost limb syndrome haunts 

her swimmerets & I hear scratches of red, of claws, 
visualize empty ocean floors, of voices left humming

to women in shallow shells… I feel my legs shaking
& lower hers while her black beaded eyes speak silence

& I leave her half cooked because I 
remember. I have somewhere else to be.