burgundy lines no longer remind you of roses:
a death forlorn, a loved one lost; have you found what to live for?
a lover, a mistake, a forgetful past? my disease doesn’t match yours
and yet we sit side-by-side, holding each other’s arms
a look of wonder, perhaps? a side-eyed tunnel into another dimension?
is this what Alice wished to have forgotten?
these exhibits will never paint our skins on their walls-
my history, your history, their history is a nuisance
in disguise of comfort. when i shudder to cut my sheaths
for your needs, we call it selfish and occupied, but neither
of us wants these callous arms. listen to us! we’ve forgotten
the park bench, the moonshine, the lies at this hour.
scorching heat in the rain, our lands never aligned,
even when all of us were the same. we are so polarized
in our wants from each other and then wonder why no
one listens. the silent nights sullen and warm, these
eyes never traced violence like ours- look at us! ashamed
of our heritage, our blood, never saying what it was all for.
my grandma dressed me in a white petticoat when we were
home alone, letting me climb hills with bruised bones,
changing my clothes into what was expected when neighbours
knocked- when will our doors open again? when will we see each
other not as lost ravens but as confidantes? “remember them” you said,
but the land is barren- where have my dead gone?
Elusive Mummers 