for days now i’ve woken up feeling like grounded glass. i cannot lift my eyes forward because i carry the residue of yesterday. peanut butter out of the jar, into my belly and into the air. i feel like i am wading in it.
frustration. what does it feel like in this body? like heat rising under a lidded pot, like thrashing through a million hangers– why do i have so many fucking clothes! that I don’t even like! All of them are roadblocks i have built and i am so angry with myself. a tower of terror, this sense of failure. it’s a stifled cry, out through the nose… i’m suffocating because i know better than to wallow.
Jesus, will your victory be mine today. Hurry, do not delay.
in the comfort of cotton too hot,
in the sanctuary of these four walls,
pristine like the underside of a clamshell,
the trees framed by the window are
nothing more than an artist’s rendering.
but there is more to be done here:
the cracked cranium,
the leaky sink,
the chipped bed-frame,
oh the dust is everywhere,
born of things decaying.
i make the rounds,
i live by the sliver of sun,
the flickering bulb
as i chase my shadow friends
i am the eye of a storm,
je ne peux
même pas m’embrasser.
Crouched, fearsome, lioness!
Stitching together your mother’s clothes,
spear-heading into the unknown
with nimble fingers and a triumphant smile.
You say: we have won, daughters,
collecting trauma like trophies,
like charms dangling round your wrist.
You beat your chest, soft as pillows,
roaring at the moon:
For your sunshine, my daughter,
I rise again.