Cherry Jolly Rancher
Melted cherry Jolly Rancher
outside my bedroom window,
a strangers’ summer gift.
Sticky and almost permanent.
Secret Anatomies
secret anatomies
behind your eyes
dirty fingernails
rupturing
my blood vessels
Neptune.
Ezekiel’s visions.
Tree shadows.
A bruised colored sky.
In the hidden spaces between
what is felt and
what is spoken
the devil and god are raging inside me.
Cell Division
I prayed today,
inside the small stall of the school bathroom
my face warmed under skylight above,
and when I opened my eyes I saw a caterpillar on the floor.
I haven’t rested or cried in months and
I have been having intense cell division daydreams.
I imagine them rapidly dividing under a microscope.
Interphase
My people were denied their humanity.
Prophase
I was a seed in the nurturing soil of my mother’s womb.
No
I was born a parasite.
Metaphase
When I was little, I stole a rose from someone's garden and gave it to my mother.
The thorns cut through my thin, soft, skin.
It was the first time I saw myself bleed.
flesh
blood
screams
Anaphase
That night I wondered if the blood of my ancestors was still inside me.
Telophase
Years later, I pulled a cactus from the desert of my ancestors and gave it to my mother.
She spent hours with tweezers
pulling away the splinters from my fragile fingers.
I think that’s what love is.
Cytokinesis
I won’t let them hurt us anymore.
No
I am only an echo of what came before.
Sacrifice and Prayer
Drugs feel good until they don’t and
everyone’s honest
eventually.
The sheer fabric of my white dress
sticks to my wet skin
I baptize myself
in the pool of my own sweat
sacrifice and prayer
bones crashing against bones
your blood on my open wound
There is no salvation in time and
we all fall apart
eventually.