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. |