little blue flowers

reaching for you

your nightgown is stained
in blood, tears, sweat
and other human things
and before we are through
with no sound to keep quiet
i will kiss back the places
he claimed from you.

your eyelids: all aflutter and gasping
your palms: singed and trembling
your mouth: a sweet, terrorized thing.

i'm afraid for the next time
we have sex
and i reach your womanhood
you'll shy away from me-
as though i am him-
as though i hold his cruelty-
as though we are one man-
no
love, i'm sorry
that he dropped you
and let stone shatter bone
i am sorry
it will take time to heal your skin
it should not be like this
it should not be like this
we are not one man.

i hold the power of women within me
when i return home to blue skies
and oatmeal goodbyes
i hold their strength
and wise, wide eyes
i hold their stained nightgowns
that have seen better days
that are folded neatly and tucked
into hidden closets, stuffed between linens and towels-
but when you need them
and ask with that soft melody of yours
these women will pull them out
unravel their sores and ugly histories,
all tattered, all still barely breathing
to show that you are not alone.

you are my home.

no man can take that from me.
no man is allowed to look at you wrongly
and stick out his waggling tongue
(i'll break his face if he does so)
or reach for you like a starved dog
begging for its master's touch
no fucking way.

love,
your nightgown
reserved for those who see the bare you
belongs to only you.

and i am forever grateful
that you've given me the honor
of raising the hem, feeling beneath
that horribly mistreated, beaten thing
to the person under it
a woman of color, of perseverance,
of a world that's still skirting justice
the woman i love
yields to nothing.

i've kissed back the places
he claimed from you.