Birds of a feather flocks together.
I spoke to a mother.
 And a grandmother who is still breathing in.


              They told me

 “ I will bathe this battle in poetry.
These layers can speak to God.
And all these wings, but I still can’t fly.
But I still may rise above the red lines and
the fallen Romes,
until the day this back has drawing restraints.
The healing powers of my prodigy will unleash.
And the hard knocks will knock on heaven’s door until it opens.
No regret in a few cuddling thoughts
No need for thinking against thinking itself
Woman’s chest pitter patters liquid chains to liquid
 petals to make holy the evil eye.”


                     Domesticated but in touch.


I came to wet the plantation

and grow outside this



- ace a