If She Could Speak - Auden Eagerton

Content warnings: child murder, child abuse, and self-harm

When I died, she says, I didn’t.

You smothered me on my bedroom floor,

and as I dissolved, I watched.

Watched as my mother gashed the bedsheet,

practicing on her wrists. 

I saw you take some tulips from the garden,

saw you both stitch them over the wound.

Then you took my body,

shoveled me into the compost

to be eaten away into mulch.

I didn’t disappear the way you wanted me to.

When I became earth,

my fingers dug into the dirt,

became roots. I grew

out instead of up,

snaked my way under the crawlspace

into the house,

curled myself around your bedposts.

You said I’d never speak again.

My mouth blossoms.

Originally published by Mineral Lit, August 2020

Auden Eagerton (he/him) is a transgender poet whose work focuses on the intersection of gender identity and complex family trauma. His work has been featured in Across the Margin, peculiar, Whale Road Review, and other journals. He received an MFA from Georgia College & State University in 2023. He serves as the Publicity Coordinator for Noemi Press