we are decked head to toe
in our ancestor’s feathers,
striped with the arteries of
bathed in the burst scabs of
obstinate knuckles seasoned by
the day, the sweat of far
too many suns without
chasing for scalps, we are
taut-backed, hold our curves
like jello axes,
spit with charcoal lips,
hearts like meandering cannons.
our chipped nails hold prayer, tongues,
the clipped wings of our grandmothers.
we are here.
we are clawing at your porch,
oiling the glass
sneaking up your banister,
sliding under sheets,
i’ve got an apple for you to bite.
breath like gentle reminders from God
now, now, learn to be amenable
feel the uneven pulse that vengeance wore.
we are pausing so you understand the difference in
revival and survived,
glint from the knife reveals an untamed eyelash:
unpainted and short and straight
we are partially cloaked but baring
wayward breasts you can’t touch,
a heat between our thighs that you can’t
hunt, and it’s close enough to
we are wearing the masks of
thorns plucked from our ribs,
a blood crusted march,
a cold new vendetta.
are coming to get you.