how did this elm
end up in my lakeing
body, or am I
meant to be a grass
land, should I have grown
out not up, blade
not trunk, mown not
hedged–or, why are roots
hissing my famine–
fled feet like, who’s this
willow writhing
my Anatevka
hair–or when did fir
start to feeler my bready
basket, did I just hear
a woodpecker
furrowing
my kidneys, or what
heights did I drop from
all this wooly seed, I have
reached up my open
trunk, haven’t found
nut, I grow
my own gauze, bruise
my owned bramble, how
to seek my selves
shade, wake up
maggoty
with ectopic tubers
draw myself
open
corpse
flower, I am
drawn, eat
my rot
nectar, woody
hearse–if I halved
my ribcage would
there be rings
k Abram is a poet and collage artist based in Brooklyn, NY. Their work has been supported by the Blue Mountain Center, published in The Offing, and recognized as a finalist for the Wabash Prize for Poetry. She is an MFA candidate and creative writing instructor at NYU. You can follow her work on Instagram @ok.abram and on Twitter @ok_abram.