| That winter we kept |
finding the wings |
| of pigeons pulled from their sockets. |
Viscera deleted |
| by the rain. A symbol |
stripped of its meaning. |
| Worry bead mistaken |
for a pebble. My mother |
| will not admit to our history |
heirloom of disease. |
| Once, malformed children |
were dashed against the rocks |
| slay the child, spare |
your now unburdened blood. |
| My chest is rivered with cracks |
my sternum broken like |
| an ox. My father tells me |
that a wolf will eat |
| their own young |
those too weak to survive. |
| This morning, a stranger in the strip mall |
offered blessing palms |
| to pull this shattered bone into |
church’s sharp-edged mercy. |
| This disabled body is always product |
or vessel |
| [of sin/for mercy]. |
Always this body of crooked back |
| & sidestepped gender. |
Body of apple-taker |
| & rib-giver. |
This body of ungiftings |
| worth praying |
away. |
