Anatomy of Grief
I pay to shoot guns in an alleyway.
Remember his tortured smile and magazine wrists.
I try to grow thyme, live with thirty one people and call myself stable.
I surround myself with cats and houseplants
and forget his last name.
I clip my nails too short and bleed into the sink.
I go to our pizza place and forget how much not crying hurts.
I taste your coke,
lick at your obituary.
I am lockdown, intoxicated tongue.
I demo a kitchen, a bathroom,
Chip my knuckle.
Ruin my only mouth.
By Katie Pukash
Katie Pukash is a poet based in Boise, Idaho. She has competed at two National Poetry Slams and has been previously published in Yay! LA, Breadcrumbs, and The Bitchin’ Kitsch, among others.