(no subject)
(by k, allison, sarwat et moi)
you can feel the lines shifting on her page
quiet. aimless. hunger does this when
left alone with ink - stains ground into
my palms and words traveling farther than
i'm able to right now.
right now pause and distance
are too close to center. bed frame
kinda lonely. hand hope kinda lonely.
umma doesn't cry until she gets home.
seat 13A to the living room
twists and laps like water under the engine's hum.
in my head, i make trees that dream of ink
and board planes that lead to places
i know not yet how to pronounce
- each other's names. sometimes not even
our own. our birth sounds have been
ground out of us. 386 whittled down to 82.
down to knee skin in a dry spell.
flood the prayer with rain.
flood the rain with prayer.