Sleeping on a Rock
You could palpate the sadness in me tonight.
|Sanford Biggers, Blossom, Brooklyn Museum|
My stomach is hard with it.
What small creation of my own making
Is growing in that space?
A rock of sadness…
With a life of her own
Waiting to fly free of my womb
And rain for satisfaction.
She would return back to earth from the clouds
And settle into black soil,
Ready to grow something beautiful.
Death comes in a hundred million forms, sister.
If you think it’s only cancer, or a car accident, or the wrong needle,
That can kill you, you’re dead wrong.
Breathe your rock back to the skies where she will rain for you.
If you’re alive, you will breathe out a thousand deaths
and wake again to a thousand and one suns.