by ORCHID Cugini
so I present them with a gift basket of traumatized fruit. Every berry is dipped in acidic bile, each melon carved in the shape of an object I had pulled on me before I turned 18—Cantaloupe switchblades. Pineapple nightsticks. Chocolate-covered strawberry glocks. In 1984, Grove Press (of Grove Atlantic), was sold to the daughter of an oil tycoon & a self-proclaimed "lifelong zionist" and this is the detail that I keep at the front of my mind while wondering whether or not Lit Hub even pays its interns. When I was an adjunct in Baltimore, I couldn't afford groceries so I often had to beg for day-old egg rolls from the chinese restaurant in order to feed my dog. What I mean here is that class consciousness is achievable at both ends of the battlefield. Still, the social media manager doesn't apologize until my friend (a National Book Award semifinalist) tells them that their response was a little excessive. I forgive them until my body is covered in petroleum, & unpaid labor, & ethanol, & blood.
Orchid Cugini (they/them) is a soft switch genderqueer poet from Staten Island, New York. They are the founding editor of Big Lucks, a co-organizer of Whale Prom, and a member of the Best Buds! Collective. Their chapbook I Am Going To Steal The Declaration of Independence will be released this summer.