I’m Not Sorry

i’m thankful again and again for my rage – José Olivarez

I wasn’t raised right. Never exalted my tongue
to syrup. Call me cracked mirror and black cat.

Every worst thing you heard is true. I cut a man down
to his knees and I’m itching to do it again. I only have bad

sides and my hands are the brightest hauntings. I’m done
trying for beauty. You can find me at any crossroads buried

upside down. I’m no longer smiling the full row of roses.
My love is the slickest knife. The glancing blow. I’ve learned

to slipslide into the heat of my own bloodmouth.
If you reach inside me, you’ll just touch teeth.

I’m a dark gnashing. Cursed inertia, I’ve worked this body
to dust. Strange fruit entombed in a flyblown garden.

Read more from Issue No. 27 or share on Twitter.