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    Butcher
    Butcher
    Butcher
    Ebook68 pages25 minutes

    Butcher

    By Natasha T. Miller

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    About this ebook

    Butcher is a book about love & loss -- about being unapologetic and transparent in grief.

    Natasha finds an unexpected solace in the kitchen after losing her best friend and brother, Marcus. Here, using the cuts of the cow as a metaphor Miller, explores addiction, family & tragedy.

    Butcher takes the body of a cow and cleaves it into 5 parts: envisioning the cuts as relationship with family members and social forces. Her Mother the rib, her Brother the brisket, her queerness as the tongue and cheek.. Butcher is raw and tender. It’s a book that tells the story of a woman who redefined success after losing the most valuable thing to her.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherButton Poetry
    Release dateFeb 23, 2021
    ISBN9781943735969
    Butcher
    Author

    Natasha T. Miller

    Natasha T. Miller is a Detroit, MI native, performance poet, LGBTQ activist, film producer, and founder of the “Artists Inn Detroit.” Natasha has been a member of four national slam teams, starred in a national Sprite commercial, a Shinola CNN ad, and she is a Women of the World Poetry Slam 3-time top five finalist. She has awed audiences across the world at more than a hundred universities and venues, performing in stadiums for as many as thirty thousand people. She has been featured in magazines such as Vogue, Entrepreneur, and many more. Natasha currently tours the world using her words to

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      Book preview

      Butcher - Natasha T. Miller

      Butcher

      The Rib

      What Are the Consequences of Silence?

      —Mahogany L. Browne

      There’s a half-empty bottle

      of liquor under my mother’s bed.

      When I arrive at her home,

      we do not speak.

      I am angry.

      I am silent because she’s

      drunk, again.

      She will drink more because I refuse

      to hold conversation,

      I know this.

      The bottle is empty by the time

      I’ve gathered all my mail.

      My throat, now

      the other half of her liver,

      and still, I am still

      and silent.

      And I swallow,

      and I leave.

      Sangria

      My mother is fruit soaked

      in alcohol. On good days I call her

      sangria. The rest of the time she’s

      just an alcoholic. Her eyes sink

      ships in a body too full of liquor to feel

      itself drowning everything

      that keeps it alive. Her liver,

      a therapist running out of room

      on the couch. One day,

      the furniture will break. The house

      will collapse. The bottle will finally

      fall from grace. Every finger she disguised

      as a petal will wilt while the rest of her

      shrivels like a forgotten grape in the sun.

      I will not abandon her

      when her bones are too weak to walk on.

      When she asks me to get her more to drink,

      I will carry it to her proudly

      in a paper bag, whisper, "brown

      will be the color of your casket."

      I will anchor every no in my throat

      to honor the wishes of the dying

      that I bring them more death.

      I will tell her a story about how

      a tree once spit every fruit it bore

      far from its roots. I will let her die

      believing that everything

      skips a generation, even death.

      Two Fires

      We are always two fires burning

      down our own home.

      But not today.

      Today, I choose

      to be water. Today, I choose us over

      the ashes.

      The Answer Is Kindness

      The question is my father

      The answer

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