#adriana cloud

[rotgospels]

There is too much or not enough room in my stomach for everything we will do to each other.

— Adriana Cloud, “Bento Body” published in Atticus Review. 

[plexurade]

If you asked me what you taste like, I'd say that moment after the blade makes contact but before blood simmers to the surface. The secret is to swallow without expecting hunger to disappear.

Adriana Cloud, Bento Body

[upst--rs]

Adriana Cloud from Instructions for Building a Wind Chime.

[bostonpoetryslam]

I am trying to eat myself into a person who doesn’t have any questions for water. Most of the time I just want to keep my teeth busy and my hands full of things I still know the use for. Knife, salt cellar, bones.

Adriana Cloud, “Bento Body,” published in Atticus Review

[bibliomancyoracle]

The worst thing is that we remember interruptions better than we remember endings.

*

from “Precise Requirements for Enumeration” by Adriana Cloud

[bibliomancyoracle]

Disappointment is always buy-one-get-two-free

if one has the appetite.

*

from “Instructions for Making Salsa Verde” by Adriana Cloud

[therumpus]

My grandmother died this past January, and I did not attend her funeral. I live in Boston now and she lived in Hisarya, Bulgaria, and I could not afford the plane ticket. This is the equation every emigrant tries to solve: distance times the cost of travel equals helplessness equals heartache equals guilt. I carried my grief like a bruise on a part of my body hidden from others. I told my husband about my grandmother’s passing but did not want to discuss it, and I didn’t tell any of my friends except one, weeks after the fact, in a text message. I could not bring myself to talk about losing my last living grandparent, because talking about her would mean talking about the literal and figurative ocean between where I come from and where I am now.

We Who Leave by Adriana Cloud