My body feels anniversaries.
With a vertical slice, my body
remembers, and my mind recreates
the yellow, the color of my fever,
the muted color of my rage.
My body feels anniversaries,
and I am the butchered.
I am the barren gardens.
I am the plot device, and
I am still sick.
06 August 2015
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Cathartic, I hope, Shannon. Take care, woman.
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