Genealogy

Your mother watered your wounds
when she named you slut
and planted herself in your womb.

She made healing into a tomb;
rooted fear like a chicken-legged hut–
her water spilled into my wounds.

I hold seances in the living room
to exercise the myths you shut
in the grave of your womb

(like flowers) boys enter your home, you assume
they want to consummate their smut;
they learn from the water in mother’s wounds.

You’ve seen the scars on my sister’s arm plume
and find new ways to fertilize her cuts
with liquid chagrin in your womb.

Your dad’s love looked like a belt, a broom;
burgeoning bruises come in a glut.
Be grateful he watered your wounds

at all. They beat their God, proverbial doom
into you, their children, their bitches and mutts,
and buried prayer in your womb

like a spell. His body and blood, which you consume
has poisoned the piety in our gut,
His water pours from our wounds.

I hoard guilt like an heirloom
and tear open fingers climbing out of your rut,
dirty water infects my wounds
and worms writhe in my womb.

Koen Paszkiewicz (they/ them) is a non-binary poet and creator. They received their BA in English with a focus in creative writing at the University of North Carolina Asheville, and their MLIS from North Carolina Central University. Nowadays, they’re working as a librarian in SC, and spending most of their spare time blogging, writing poetry, working on their book, and filming video essays about literature and cinema tropes. Their work has been featured in Queen Mob's Tea House, THAT Literary review, Flora Fiction, and Angel Rust. Their linktree is https://linktr.ee/ozymothmandias