There’s a dominance in his hands.
He has more power in one knuckle than I do in my whole body.
I hang on his bones like stretched out clothing,
He has lost a lot of weight.
I pray at the altar
Laid out at his feet.
I wash away the blood and drink
From the bowl.
He presses his lips to the back of my neck,
Sings me a lullaby.
I don’t understand this power,
This black magic.
My heart is now kindling.
He warms his dominant hands over my smoke.