by Zilla N.

Eat Me(at) by L.M. Cole reminds me that, as a woman, I am a collection of parts to be enjoyed. That what is kindest to to my body may not be what is best to consume. That the flesh bruises and moistons. That what is craved is uniformity, purity, tenderness. That there are ways to achieve this.

The point of blackout poetry is that what is removed enlargens what is left, so the final poem surpasses the space of the original textbook, if only in the mind. If only in the memory of a good meal.

Get your copy from kith books, an indie press takes no prisoners in poetry.

And in the Before Times when our childhood characters had yet not been tainted, I feel in love with a poem which seems in conversation with L.M.’s book. So I link it here, either printed or spoken.