After Another Doctor Has Given Up
by Chrissy Martin
I deserve to indulge, buy a burrito
smoothly swaddled to rip open
with my teeth, reveal soft meat.
Find a public spot on the riverwalk
where the tourists sip salty margaritas,
search for a place to feast their eyes.
And perfect—it begins to rain.
I deserve a body felt by water. As I take
the first bite of flesh and heat, I release.
Cry in fat drops that season my food
and lick the new brine from my meat.
I made this. My body poured forth
and made better. My sorrow is seen
by so many. The mourning is decadent
like licking batter from the bowl, a large
pizza for myself with breadsticks
and tonguing clean garlic butter
from the thin skin between each finger.
My eyes so green against the red
ringed around them, look feral.
Tourists line the bridges a story above,
put their bellies to the barrier and lean
like children while the zoo monkeys
fuck, disgusted and can’t stop gawking.
First published in Whole, Holy, Hot by Chrissy Martin (Write Bloody Publishing, 2026).
Beautiful work. First burrito I’ve tasted since my chronic illnesses really kicked in a few decades ago. Why I’m not a poet of the body. It really helps me see this, thank you!