was a descendant of trees
my foremothers the branches
that bore my blossoming weight my
forefathers birds that scattered seed
where water was a dream
where they rowed with my breath
in their mouth
on the shore a stag
one antler branching the sky
the absence of the other
a memory.
My body curls in on itself
just so skin can touch skin
I want to be more animal
more
but cannot remember the last
person whose fingers grazed me
the lack of touch
unstitches flesh
O how the feathers
in the Sharp-shin’s beak
ruin the mouth for song.
Leave a Reply