is there another way to say this.
tell me honestly — i don’t know where to begin.
maybe if i do, the words will falter and pause and land
somewhere i know, some clearing in the brush that i’ve charted, that i
can call by name. i’m lost. words swarm a half-eaten moon.
i am not tall enough, i am not big enough to hold everything that’s screaming
to be let in. my hood is drawn against a hurting, bruising sky. how do i begin, how
do i apologize. how do i know that this will answer to a name at all.
these are wild things, these words. these are things with teeth.
i keep walking. my wicker basket swings and swings, threatening to fly away.

red red red, says the ground when i look around. my cloak has grown so
heavy. everything wants to move, and i do not. everything has teeth except for
me. red red red. my hood falls over my eyes, over my mouth so that it’s all it can
say. all i can say. all i can say is red red red. and it’s not enough. can’t
there be another way to say this.

a bone. another rib on the path. a sternum. my hip bone. i am not alone.
who am i. red red red. apples in my wicker basket. there has to be another way
to say this. i’m lost. i can’t go any faster, everything is far away and i’m so tired.
the eyes in the darkness are mine. bread in my wicker basket. the swishing tail
in the darkness is mine. red red red. the teeth prodding at the sky are mine.

how do i begin when i don’t know the way. how do i begin when i don’t know which path i walk.
how do i begin when my body was never only mine.
how do i begin.

how.