wish

One holds their wishes on a tapestry bound by scars and the pricks of thumbtacks

I tend to my past, a field of obliterated plots, that grew into its silence and waves back at me regardless of my mouth being kept

under

a prison of skin, that was born to be torn in battle and split apart down to the rind. they will come regardless if there are remains or if my body was spoon-fed into the sun and soil and the solace that comes with new bone

anchored muscle and a flesh shaped shelf of calcium. I’m dense when it comes to forced coordination. A forced fall, which led me into puddle of spit, a split head, I cry out to God some nights I think? Knees bloodied with scripture and fractures and when you ask me

what is it like to be covered in nonwhite and woman with a hand that’s been drenched in star-shine and a trail-of-grace that bathes in an ancient earth

I ask you what do you mean by that?