Sarah Sgro

[If the future is a fetish]
excerpted from Without Them I Am Still A Mother

If the future is a fetish. If my pussy is a sick fixation. If my pussy can’t be fixed. For like the field
it has no doors. For like a business it has several partners. For like the future I’m a port. If the
future dreams of pussy. If the future is a tentacle emerging from my body. If the future is an
ocean floor. For X is a tentacle pulsing. For J is a tentacle pulsing. If I reproduce as a compulsion.
There is me & there is me & there is me & when my child finally arrives with organs pulsing. If I
have my child then tape up every hole. If my memory is a stranger. If they never leave me for
they do not enter. There is me & there is me & I will reassemble. If not all departures are
abandonments. If my child is healthy she will grow. If I am generous & recognize you thirst for
things I cannot know. I will reassemble. I am branded by no letters. If they leave. I let them.




[The jugular is a substantial vein]
excerpted from Without Them I Am Still A Mother


the jugular is a substantial vein I bring I bring a blade


I bring death is not a public space death is no one’s


private joke I will not condone you celebrating any decomposing body


or the recreation of a body like my own when I wake up


from a dream & finally I’m queer when I’m never going back to sleep


I will not romanticize the hollow of my throat licked


by Xanax 2mg like marrow from a bone the jugular engorged with blood


the testicles engorged my memory rejects your sperm


my jugular rejects the blade I pledge allegiance to tumescence


make my life a public space look my recreation


a parade I hoist my lovers like balloons reject the possibility of weight




Elegy For My Bush & Other Lushness

i love being thin enough to slice of course you die from the pocketknife slender

bloodline trailing towards the floor my right-now lover is a horse decaying in the center

of the road who runs over a horse who sucks the entrails from his butt leaving him

a tender husk we fall asleep carved-out we eat food that turns our feces green

we are very regular i carve him out of every private dream i kiss a girl he doesn’t know

i wake adorned in piss & can’t remember who i love all my former fucks refuse

to be decrepit they shed their hair inventively they buy silver shoes with no strings

in bed i map out ways to modify my body i’ll wear my bowels as a scarf i’ll wax

the backwoods of my crotch into a strip dewy steak to dig your teeth into

here is where the aesthetician skins my cunt with tiny licks here is where my lover licks

the puckered skin around my cunt a little too far to the right though i don’t touch myself

enough to be a guide if you could please ravage this succulent valley if you could please

suck this ravishing valley i value my rapture the curdled scum the female form

does not supply a fill the female form a bucket in the sand granules delicious wet

my lover’s penis swells inside me like a cheeseburger digesting painfully i vomit

up the shape of a girl he doesn’t know how she tastes in a dark room

i am not the void i own nothing of the void i own nothing i have vomited it up

here our dwindled bodies here my skin recoiling here my puss a neat frontier





my rapture

mmmm a heath bar shake from Baskin Robbins

is the most

caloric beverage in America

according to Eat This, Not That

eat this: my pussy

on a good day

is still arid

edible matter

the most wholesome things

are not always the most toothsome

there is no such thing as an animal

not transformed

by all of its encounters

find me a body

still intact

YUM Kristeva

mmmm my mother

everyday i eat my unborn child

as a light snack




What I Mean Is Poem But I’m Sleepy

no one loves me so i’ll write a pome

got home drunk & wrote a pome

smoked a cigarette as an accessory

someone put my pome in a gallery

this pome in minor key

my heart a feral peach

this pome a fuzzy caterpillar

maybe just a worm

at the bar you’re sitting

with a handsome man i’ve never met

in the bathroom

i’m asserting how i’m ugly

lipstick on my teeth

lipstick on my dirt pome

no one text my pome


my pome thirsty

for a hunk of flesh

when i don’t eat

i want to kiss whoever

sitting next to me

at least i can come home

to write pome

i love myself

with a fresh hand

i taint my fingers

with tobacco as a fast excuse

to stand

my lips belooooooong

in a pome

my ass belooooooong

on your lips

i will violate myself

in every pome

& still be safe

no one sleeps beside me

but my words

i will fuck my pome

as you probably expect

i stay sadder

than i ever were



SARAH SGRO currently lives in Oxford, Mississippi, where she serves as Poetry Editor for the Yalobusha Review and co-hosts the Broken English Reading Series. She is from New York and previously worked as an editorial assistant for Guernica. Her poetry appears in Muzzle, TYPO, glitterMOB, Horse Less Review, Deluge, the minnesota review, Tinderbox Poetry Journal, and Word Riot.

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