Thick Skin

I breathe
my father’s breaths—
each one carves
through my flesh
like a flame

Rage clings
to the roof of my mouth
I refuse to swallow it

To live in a world already lived
To wear a mask already worn
I refuse to swallow it

Don’t expect me
to squeeze
even a single flower
from this rotting body
worn out by men

Do not silence the bird
and then blame her song

Don’t shun us
for it’s our blood
that moistens the earth

We are an army
of love
ice
and dust

It is us
It is me

The wind folds softly
around my rigid boundaries

They keep me from selling
each vessel—
every thought

Preserve my body
as the sacred space it is

Limbs mourning

Womb pounding

Trees whisper:
‘Come caress me’—

Or is it my skin?