My suffering is not unique. I feel the need to repeat this refrain since I’m writing another poem about my brain. My brain is not unique either— but it might be the first brain of its kind that you see opened, pink and screaming, turned inside out on the table. The organ is delicate when exposed to open air, but strong when held within my skull, given sleep and good food, allowed to strengthen pathways, rewire snapped synapses. Yet to write this poem requires a cracking down the middle, a spilling of yolk, and for its suffering that you can see, my brain will seem unique. You will pass through the world after thinking, remembering, wondering which heads house the same kind of matter, mattering just as much as mine or—your brain, which is now thinking of itself— how delicate those folds but strong when folded together and between them— the electric popping of poetry— of understanding and being understood. Know that when I see you, a nod means that I can hear the same music and my mind is dancing with yours.
About the Poet:
KD Williams is a nonbinary writer. They teach at local colleges and received their undergraduate degree from the University of Michigan. They earned an MFA from Stony Brook Southampton where they received the Stony Brook Short Fiction Award. Their work has been published in The Southampton Review and other publications.