MEDUSA;
for sahra
this is for my girls who swallow their tails, who sink their bodies into their mouths and wait to be reborn. you drink from yourself a wine that is full of teeth.
this is for my girls with bodies of burned rubber — stacks of mutilated, road-burned tires scorched by the sun — with their souls intact.
this is for my girls who can't swim, who hold their bodies flush to the water long enough for it to kiss to their flesh but never long enough to be devoured.
the is for my girls with mouths full of nectar, dripping from their canines; she speaks and kisses with that sticky-sweet mouth — sometimes, it's hard to swallow.
this is for my girls who grow vines from their chests, who bloom red like spring, white like spun cotton. your tongue is in knots but your body flowers in the most beautiful colors.
this is for my girls with heavy lids and weary eyes. atlas could not support this world; what you see, girl, is too real of a monster for any man to battle.
this is for my girls who walk on coals and burn themselves when they cross their legs; you glow white from the inside out and you go quick; the brightest go quick.
this is for my girls with hair pulled tight from their scalp by cinder blocks. you shed your tears, but there is no a place stronger than a woman's head.
this is for my girls who hide matches in their teeth. you bite hard on the inside of a thigh and your mouth fills with flame, scorched gums and dying embers on your tongue.
this is for my girls who turn men to stone. you flash like light and weave like a river and he can't help but stumble wide-eyed underneath your heel. do you regret crushing him?
this is for my girls who carry their mother's body on their back. she sinks her teeth in and begs you not to leave but you see the sun flood the sky and you rush to meet it.
this is for my girls with broken ribs. the heel of god strikes down hard and you fill the color of an oil spill. you stand back up.
this is for my girls with brass knuckles and hearts of gold. your chest dips and palpitates. you tear it apart sinew by sinew and a child climbs in.
this is for my girls who stare into the sun. your eyes melt out of your head and down your face in the form of a two-headed snake, one rearing anger and the other being fear.
this is for my girls who spit their seeds out. you are rough, raw; your tongue sharp, your hands callused from everything you have ever destroyed in your life.
this is for my girls who are rotten to the pit. but you are not. you gleam with everything once over, twice as better. you grow until your limbs ache, until the world can't contain your expanse.
so you bear your own.
(given as a birthday gift to sar, my small snake hoe)
