I don’t want to kill myself
I just want to move to New York
The evening skyline where I currently live
resembles a serrated stake knife
far too much
And it tempts me
I take it upon myself
and walk back home
with the bosom of a Luzon
bleeding-heart dove
all casual-like too,
arms a-swinging, whistling
the radio
down the hill
The melody distracts me
from the thought that
it’d be better if I broke
my ankle
and was left to starve
here on the sidewalk
My carcass a feast for the crows
And pigeons
And squirrels
A Disney princess of macabre persuasion,
the urban wildlife will crowd
around my body
Pecking, nibbling, with their beaks and
itty-bitty incisors
Virgin I am, this is closest
I’ll get to true love’s kiss
And the last volts of life within
me will twitch with a gladness

Malaika W. Kamau (author of If Orpheus Was a Carp) was born in 2006 in Lusaka, Zambia, but was a perpetual nomad throughout her childhood and adolescence as part and parcel of being an army brat. Today, Kamau manages her undergraduate coursework while moonlighting as a writer and aspiring filmmaker. Her work has appeared in BRIO and The Corsair.