Customs

TOMASELLI AWARD, Runner-up

POETRY

by Priya Grace

Who are you when there’s nothing left  

except your childhood body, feather-light  

but lucrative? The older you get,   

the younger you are. This is your legacy,  

reaching into yourself and pulling out  

the feeding tube to film customs on your final bed—  

Someone’s husband vowing   

that he doesn’t mind.