To be wrong or to be whole. by Cori Bratby-Rudd

2/1/2019

A child, rock bellied clutches the sound, squirming from their mouths taste, scaled sharp, in the texture of strangers and a child scrutinized into red. These are the choices in which they froze me. Letting my tongue peel from lack of use. My hands once spelt stop in the air, skywritten silence my silence entombed in fear this voice, my voice, estranged like the family I once list, I was afraid to lose what lying let me hold. Containing complexity and freezing myself in the metaphor of singularity. Like the idea that of mothers there can be only one. I have flashbacks of a stranger-- my family trying to hold me in their palms tangible like simplicity.

Cori Bratby-Rudd is a queer LA-based writer. She graduated Cum Laude from UCLA’s Gender Studies department, and is a current MFA Candidate in Creative Writing at California Institute of the Arts. Cori enjoys incorporating themes of emotional healing and social justice into her works. She has been published in Ms. Magazine, The Gordian Review, Califragile, and PANK Magazine, among others. She recently won the Editorial Choice Award for her research paper in Audeamus Academic Journal and was nominated as one of Lambda Literary's 2018 Emerging Writers.

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To be wrong or to be whole. by Cori Bratby-Rudd