Tara Skurtu

BRAINS | ECLIPSE
October 24, 2016 Skurtu Tara

BRAINS

 

You didn’t have any

that Sunday afternoon

at the family table—your chain-

smoking father, too weak

to tend his backyard garden,

still masculine enough to want

to rip that necklace from your neck,

in silence he slid the first slice

onto my plate and waited for me

to eat the one thing I told myself

I’d never eat—I swallowed

the bite whole. Here, I was

the foreigner. I was your guest.

 

 

 

 

ECLIPSE

 

The bird moved when I moved.
It was like a klonopin, it slept

between my breasts—opened its eyes
only when I peeked inside my shirt

and let in light.

Tara Skurtu is a two-time Fulbright grantee and recipient of two Academy of American Poets prizes and a Robert Pinsky Global Fellowship in Poetry. She is the author of the chapbook Skurtu, Romania and the full-length poetry collection The Amoeba Game (Eyewear).