1/30 *please do not repost or copy to any page or website* Cartography The way these shoes fit as if they have always been right size is not truth. My throat has not always been a living thing. Even yesterday, dead gulls fell when I spoke. Sister, you should know this, lest you think me fashioned unbreakable. I am a liar. To call you sister, a lie. I do not say we are kin. Not in amplified halls or quiet rooms. Not in the dark. Not even as we wear the same soiled panties. Stains I do not wish to share with you. The cartography of survival has no compass. Some days it is easier to be an un-named country, than a stolen one. The wrists, clavicle, radius know this. How marauders have come to sever our cities. Pinned themselves to our dust earth. When I split like old ground I cursed you. I never wanted to be a timid woman’s lip. Not my own locked doors. How much safer it is to be this mass of gravel and grass than to be a broken city. Just another robber’s house. So grant me the gift of forgetting how he perched himself like a bird on a wire. How for the first time, in my life I felt thin.
Posted on: Fri, 04 Apr 2014 02:01:08 +0000