I Bit the Hand by Donna Dallas

The hand that fed
the same hand that posed itself as comfort
fostered my birth

I chewed into the knuckles
they crunched and popped
ripped the hand off
shook it with rage
came back later to lick
down to bone

My savagery straight from the womb
or nurtured so off the spectrum
I was bled to believe
I squeezed out tainted
at eight I put a plastic bag over my head
to die
the hand did not remove it
at twelve I refused to cease screams
they fell dead under a muffled palm
the haunted sounds echoed backward
deep into my throat
bounced from rib to spine
caused a cataclysm

Later the hand settled around my esophagus
the same hand that dangled candy
slid me pills
questions were asked
where should we place her
what should we administer
fingers poked my eyes
pinched my lips to purple
I went dark
for years

Came back a savant
spoke in tongues
could not be decoded
sharpened teeth
loose cannon
not good around strangers
searched for the hand
Later fattened with grief
from gorging on its tendons
I placed its dried up remains in a jar
on clear days ponder as the bone-dust
sparkles in the sunlight

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