Fairy Tales We Grew From
I’m tuned to the mess,
the humming ache in my hands
stamped with deposits,
faintest grasp of knobs,
my skin a garden blooming,
octopus pulses, lock & pull,
the trembles, the rolled-up eyes.
Burn everything —
cherry trees & fish —
pungent, scarlet, bitter,
ginger & lime kombucha,
sharp-shinned hawk on a black phoebe,
green ink on my lips & tongue
sheared away where true is.
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