Nadia Kim
—n here, come here she points to the ground at her feet, patterns a spell through rhythmic tongue —n I twist stray hairs at neck nape dress ties at waistline between soft/clean fingers as she twists my split lip with her teeth —n here, wait here on the ground, beneath her avocadoes fall she hoists her form through waxy leaves picks half-rot sapote and green bananas splits passionfruit with sharpened claw —n I twist grass roots through handfuls of soil with dirty peeling fingernails as she twists my split lust with her teeth —n here, stay here her patterns beg me, longingly bind me she wrapped her legs around my hips waves wrapped our body she wrapped me with her tongue and split earth to make our tomb
Nadia Kim is a queer poet/student/writer/ratbag living between the Inner West in Sydney and the outer (outer, outer) north-west of Canberra. Her poetry has been published in student rags; her crocheted spiders adorn the streets of Glebe. In lieu of flowers, she asks that you please dismantle the patriarchy.