Yet

Yet
as i fold
my edges form
my hip

got a cross word
in my throat and i can’t
fight the worms

the black universe
is in the golden earth
of my womb

but my chest
is open air.
Open, Air!

i am trying
to seize
my heart

always ahead
in all ways
a head

emerging so i can’t
articulate can’t
art cultivate

my body’s eArth
has not
birthed beauty

Yet


Wart
My legs have lived exiled
from the rest of my body.
My stomach’s skin reviles
the wastes of flesh below.

Childhood warts once decorated these knees
with their cauliflower pearls of white and blood.

There.

Waiting to be knifed or frozen off
into a crimson blister
upon which all my insecurities sucked.

With satisfaction I removed the gummy white flesh left
revealing the wounded under layer:
red lines of skin already shriveling in

Making wart
the most beautiful word
that ever scared me.