Edges
A poem about losing and reclaiming them
Why she hadda be loud so?
Sharp so?
All clavicles and cheekbones
retorts and teeth
blackstrap molasses on the back of the tongue
refusing to go down
a splinter of bone lodged in the throat?
My edges
sanded to sanctimonious smoothness
guilted with Wednesday's ashes
shrivel and shrink as she passes
paper held to flame.
I see you, sister.
I want to be you, sister.
My father claps our roti
oiled hands gleaming
then divides steaming hills
of rice and dhal
with knife and fork
so I could learn the 'proper way'.
Self-mutilation
with a serving of table talk.
I see you, sister.
I want to be you, sister
The bedroom door creaks
captures me in a sliver of light
a fly trapped in amber.
Sweaty palms
trembling thighs.
I wonder why
but my body knows.
I see you, sister.
I want to be you, sister.
“Why are you always so angry?"
A lover pries.
I cross my legs
smile
cloak the glint of steel
behind my eyes.
I see you, sister.
I want to be you, sister.
