Poetry by Isabella DeSendi


Do what men have taught you. Stun me blind.
Drag me hog-tied under a fog-washed sky
until I hear only the river sloshing with rain. 
Though it pulsed like an old scab you were tender
with my heart. Shouldn’t have felt pity
but I did. See how it aches like a newborn
raw with life. First fur then blood pooled around us
like jasmine mid-bloom. The smell of my death
igniting the air. There are pieces of me
everywhere. Clumped and scattering like beetles
in the gutter. Touch me; you love me flayed.
Hung flat as a rug kicked clean. Go on then,
do it. What’s stopping you. Your blade
already this close to my neck.


Isabella DeSendi is a Cuban-Italian poet from Florida living in New York City. Her poems have been published in Tea, Two Peach, and are forthcoming in Appalachian Heritage. She is currently working on completing her MFA at Columbia University. 


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