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Cento in Which We Take Edibles on an Empty Stomach

This poem was originally published in 2023 in The Passionfruit Review (Issue 1).

Pot is legal. I love my boyfriend.

- Jessica Abughattas


 

I sometimes like to lie

down on the floor

in the kitchen, the watchtower

that is my body opened

like a secret in a mouth, a house

with a brain inside.

 

It doesn’t make sense, I know.

 

Across the floor like petals,

we make our meeting-place.

You put on a bad British accent

and say, “Softest of mornings,

hello,” thick with a sax-

ophone’s syrup as though

there is no crisis.

 

What could be better than to stand

here hungry, domestic

as a plate? As I open my mouth

to speak, I keep hearing

tree talk, water words,

and I keep knowing

what they mean. I must

get this exactly, I want to

make it clear: These trees are

my bones, but my eyes

are so deep-set

in my head, I can’t see

the forest from here.

 

This is trivial, or nothing.

 

I quietly call to you and you

come and hold my hand and I

say, “Does the breeze need us?”

 

“Did you say the wind?”

you say with both hands on

my chest. You like the feel

the weight, the heft of it

in your hand. You are so dramatic,

I say in a language

my father never taught me.

“Where do you think

the soul is?” I say instead

aloud, surprised,

and Brain says, Christianity

is a religion built around

a father who is only a god if you learn

to starve. And then I trouble

my brain into a blender then hand

you a cup.

 

We sit in silence

in the face of our questions

long, radiant minutes

quietly, your hand

in my hand, hand

on my stupid heart,

just agreeing to be

still. I press my body into

your body and eventually feel

interesting and not like a chair.

Each time you breathe

a birch tree grows, propelled

by a heart of sea anemone.

 

This is how worship begins.

A cento, this poem is composed solely of lines from 41 other poems, detailed below:

​​

  1. Ada Limón, “The Quiet Machine”

  2. Jada Renée Allen, “Interior”

  3. Phillip B. Williams, “Hunter”

  4. Dana Levin, “A Skull”

  5. Li-Young Lee, “I Loved You Before I Was Born”

  6. Torrin A. Greathouse, “Song”

  7. Muriel Rukeyser, “Song”

  8. Mark Bibbins, “One afternoon you fixed me”

  9. Mary Oliver, “Softest of Mornings”

  10. Safia Elhillo, “Self Portrait With Yellow Dress”

  11. CAConrad, “Altered After Too Many Years Under the Mask”

  12. Ellen Bass, “Cold”

  13. Edna St. Vincent Millay, “Grown-up”

  14. Shara McCallum, “Passage”

  15. Lucille Clifton, “Breaklight”

  16. Denis Johnson, “Upon Waking”

  17. Ama Codjoe, “Becoming a Forest”

  18. James Cihlar, “The Way Words Echo in Our Heads”

  19. Cameron Awkward-Rich, “Something About Joy”

  20. Sharon Olds, “True Love”

  21. Ellen Bass, “The World Has Need of You”

  22. Lewis Grandison Alexander, “Japanese Hokku”

  23. Meg Day, “10AM is When You Come to Me”

  24. Christopher Kondrich, “Common Things”

  25. Aria Aber, “Waiting for Your Call”

  26. André Naffis-Sahely, “The Other Side of Nowhere”

  27. Kim Addonizio, “Body and Soul”

  28. Leah Naomi Green, “Origin Story”

  29. Ishmael Reed, “Skin Tight”

  30. Terrance Hayes, “American Sonnet for My Past and Future Assassin”

  31. Danez Smith, “I’m going back to Minnesota where sadness makes sense”

  32. Noor Hindi, “Breaking [News]”

  33. Safiya Sinclair, “We Sit Silent in the Face of Our Questions”

  34. Wendy Cope, “On a Train”

  35. Cameron Awkward-Rich, “Meditations in an Emergency”

  36. James Crews, “Self-Compassion”

  37. Amy Lemmon, “I take your shirt to bed again…”

  38. Wendy Xu, “This Year I Mean to Be an Elephant”

  39. Jeremy Radin, “Blueberries”

  40. Sara Eliza Johnson, “Parable of the Unclean Spirit”

  41. Cheryl Boyce-Taylor, “Worship”

© Riley O'Connell 2025

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