Tuesday, December 2, 2014

But now she sleeps in the warmth of her own bowed body

she once carried on her back 
silent pain till a balloon popped
and all the anxiety withered in the warm
trickle of blood down her leg, down stream into zero
she discended—that child, into a warm haze where
they left her-- all of them

                                                she was kind of floating out there

till the bite brought her back, the red
rivered puddles: the world was clear again,
the world was clear and the sheath stayed warm
with knife-in-mind for years
scars mapped her body in stripes,
blotted constellations beneath her sleeves

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