i am all Yours,
sitting at your knees in
the shifting light of the kitchen—
the quick, tin glint of your knife,
striking at the heel
of the apple
delivers, from its bulk,
a small synapse
of water—
i know myself only
ever in relation to You,
Grandma—
your cavities widen inside
of me like an urgent balloon,
or a woman about to sing—
it always skips
a generation, you say
in bruised english—
your knife
ignites its
wound—
and suddenly, like Eurydice,
i am twice
to die.
Annika is a fourth-year McGill student in International Development and Cognitive Science. She loves trivia, cartwheels, and arguing.