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A Useless Body

 

A critic told me

That if I want to write poetry

I should dig a hole

And kill myself

But I dug a hole

To bury all those I have killed

Until yesterday

Starting with my sister

Whom I drowned

Closed the door of memory

That boy who wrote my name

On all the neighborhood’s walls

I killed him with a bird’s stroke

I killed my cat when I moved to the capital

Whenever the doorbell rings

He meows like a goddess in agony

He kept yellowing and hardening

Until on a cold night, he died on my books.

I killed my body, a while ago

I kept wearing it while it was dead.

In the near past

I put it on a pale bed

And on it wrote:

“totally useless”