“i set my deadfall hands on fire —
swallow the ashes,” i wrote and laughed
as these words turned black with rot
in two months,
i am no longer inside the skin
burning away vividly at the feet of the sun god.
i am not a body at the crematorium
with matchstick-fingers and gasoline;
my bones are whole, pure, pearly, quiet white.
i have been holding my breath, waiting
for the smoke to clear without choking.
i no longer want to write about the flames and the embers and live-coal hearts;
i put my poems down, my cigarettes and pitchfork
and step into a gentler flare,
and stick my tongue out to lick the sunbeams —
they’re warm against my taste buds,
like honeyed milk and hibiscus stews.
i am four years old once more,
sleeping soundly on my mother’s lap.
Jul 8, 2022
Jul 8, 2022 at 2:58 AM UTC
“i set my deadfall hands on fire —
swallow the ashes,” i wrote and laughed
as these words turned black with rot
in two months,
i am no longer inside the skin
burning away vividly at the feet of the sun god.
i am not a body at the crematorium
with matchstick-fingers and gasoline;
my bones are whole, pure, pearly, quiet white.
i have been holding my breath, waiting
for the smoke to clear without choking.
i no longer want to write about the flames and the embers and live-coal hearts;
i put my poems down, my cigarettes and pitchfork
and step into a gentler flare,
and stick my tongue out to lick the sunbeams —
they’re warm against my taste buds,
like honeyed milk and hibiscus stews.
i am four years old once more,
sleeping soundly on my mother’s lap.
Written last May 16, 2022, 9:10 pm
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