To Dear Sir

Sir, hinder what I’ve done. I was once tied
to metal bed legs so long nerves
were severed and I’ve never held
a pencil right since. Sir,
render me one same piece

once again, my parts

are littered all behind me. Sir, Ender is coming—
they’re on my dissertation panel,
the doctors with biopsy tubes
lined up neat as soldiers, the husband
who’s seen my insides are fermented
in fear. They say, Sir, end her suffering,
(like a dog). Kafka rolls or shakes and his

will be the last words sloshing
in my broken head. I surrender

to it all, your price tags, the everythings
I knew were arriving—slow and seasick
like heirlooms shipped in bubbles.

Volume 11.2 - December 2018

JESSICA MEHTAis a multi-award-winning poet and novelist. She's currently an Arts Lab Fellow at Halcyon Arts Lab in Washington DC and working on her 14th book. More can be found at