To be a monarch
is to be the queen
or to grow wings
and fly away
Flying toward the sons
of my atomic atmosphere
Maternity stripped from
my womb
to be given to
a mother whose children
knew nothing of her
sorrows and grief
This internal home
deserving of protecting
at every price
that was always
too
high
Taking a stand
and taking the stand
A beacon of Grace
With myself as the totem
I collapse beneath myself
and fall into the earth
Buried in false presence
and lewdness and letters
carved
into my back etched
into my skin the skin
of my ancestors
WILDsound Writing Festival 