in my family, nineteen means
a desert.
stretch and sand and thirst.
we claw at our skin,
convinced the heat is something we can ****
if we just scratch hard enough.

in my family, nineteen means
needle meets wrist.
our bodies a wasps nest
of shaking hands
and too wide eyes.
we lavish in stings and ******
and forearms of thorns.
we lap up the blood.

in my family, nineteen means
hospital stays.
bruised limbs.
heavy legs and even heavier eye lids.

in my family, nineteen means
chapped lips
and bleeding gums.
sinks stained with blood.
teeth swirling down the drain.
throats rubbed raw
with all the screams we’ve
kept under lock and key.
every agony that has
wrung itself dry and
broken our spines.

in my family, nineteen means
revolution.
somehow on both sides
of the bayonet.
never shooting until
i see the whites of my own eyes.

in my family, nineteen means
shrapnel
and sunflowers.
daggers
and daises.
life
and death.

in my family, nineteen means
a black widow
spinning its last web.