"Poem to a Body Gone Rogue" by Sheree La Puma
Poem to a Body Gone Rogue
This is a habit that starts in childhood.
I plant fear. Collect sharp edges.
A sliver of glass, a thumb tack in tall
weeds waiting for a foot. That paring
knife under my bed in a shoebox.
Things that hurt. Within the border
of two identities, I listen to lies spread
within communities. How they love
the variants. Left to guess what a heart
gives up when pulsing, I am a body
in the process of skinning itself.
Photo Credit: Staff