“slice,” a poem by Savannah Slone



Now is the time to
grab your eggshell paint
Pray that you won’t get it in your eyes
when you stroke it across your

face. Your face that has seen
Your face that ought not be seen
If it gets in your eyes, you
might miss the removal of a hijab

Two men kissing in shame
White pointed hats
White emergency room ceilings
after a back alley abortion

Towers that gleam
and scheme
the American dream.
Pray, but only to our country’s
leader: our one and only Lord,
Jesus Christ

Slice your native tongue off
and stuff it into the leg of your suit
or stitch your mouth shut with a needle and thread
Know that this was an excellent business decision

or you could always
against the United States
of Hate
and Privilege.

Savannah Slone is a queer writer who recently earned her B.A. in English: Professional and Creative Writing from Central Washington University and will soon begin her M.F.A. in Writing at Lindenwood University. Her poetry has appeared in Manastash Literary Arts Magazine and Creative Colloquy. Savannah lives in Skykomish, Washington, where she works a handful of part-time jobs and cares for her toddler with autism. She enjoys reading, writing, knitting, and hiking. You can keep up with her writing portfolio at savannahslonewriter.com.

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