After my second funeral
I ran from my gorgeous morbid tomb,
those grand deflated clothes, the dust,
my ancestors’ suffocating
I left dry branches in place of my young bones.
I barely stopped to wonder how long
it would take for anyone to notice.
They could still perform over those cold twigs.
A diorama of exquisite grief.
I charged out into the shadows
carrying my huge heart safe
behind a clasp of ribs and two good breasts.
My ankles were thick and strong and my legs
ran to prove something.
I held nothing in my hands.
I cut my hair and grew.
I let my feet land tough and heavy.
I shoved fistfuls of poppies in my mouth
until my cheeks bulged. A black rose between my lips.
A crown of wild mushrooms.