A new poem by kī anthony.

farm to table

there is a story in my body that you want to hear.
pull me apart like supermarket pizzabread and

tell me who i am. narrative unspools my broken
cassette; pick up your fork. wind me up. present
me on masterchef and watch the judges, straight-

faced, chew and swallow. the emotional piano
music will come in any moment now: palatable, a
story for mass consumption. nothing left of me

to bleep out. distilled with sodium alginate into
spheres with no smell or texture. garnish so clear

you can see all the way through. what’s the magic
thing that tickles your throat? what brings those
tears to your eyes – not the ugly ones, the mist

of greenhouse sprinklers? your gentle hands.
your paring knife, the infinite spiral of my rind.

take my seeds out. supermarket me, infertile. you
plant them anyway. and see what grows.

The Friday Poem is edited by Chris Tse. Submissions are now being accepted until 30 September 2023. Please send no more than three poems in a Word document to chris@christse.co.nz.