Bonne Femme
A Poem by Blayne Waterloo
I realize I’ve been silent
While you disembowel me alive.
But you haven’t said a word
Even though I know you noticed.
Though, had I spoken up, maybe tapped
Your hunched shoulder as you worked
Through my innards, I have no
Doubt that whatever limbs I
Employed to brave your violent
Wingspan would be bitten off with
The vigor and vitriol of a pitbull
Stoked and teased, to prove a point,
To ensure my fear of the consequences.
“But everyone’s hungry,” I reason
With my self-respect, roiling in
My own tempered animal’s ties.
I watch the red behind my eyelids
Rise to the most perfect moment. And
While you pause to lick your chops—
To sigh deeply before ripping for
More—the claws I’ve been neglecting
To tend to for you catch a carotid.
Et fin.
Blayne Waterloo (they/she) is a horror writer and editor living in Georgia with their partner and loud dog.
