BIRTHRIGHT

sometimes
I wear it
like a scar
over my right eye

it meanders down
like the Mississippi
to my cheek

sometimes
I punch glass
and smear knuckles' blood
over my forehead and cheek

sometimes
in my dreams
I can see the puppetstring
from my right eye
up to my mother's hand
the string she cut at birth
to tumble me
into the guts
of Washington
to be snatched up
and raised by the wolves
that roam suburban streets
at night

sometimes
the ruby in my right eye
glows
in its hunger
for flesh

but most of the time
I just lie there

---

ABOUT ROBERT BEVERIDGE

Robert Beveridge (he/him) makes noise (xterminal.bandcamp.com) and writes poetry in Akron, OH. Recent/upcoming appearances in New American Legends, Toho Journal, and Chiron Review, among others.